


The Pirate's Daughter Returns

by hornblowerfic_archivist



Series: The Pirate's Daughter [3]
Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Action/Adventure, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasy, Gen, Graphic Sex, Humor, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-30
Updated: 2009-07-30
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:22:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6125842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornblowerfic_archivist/pseuds/hornblowerfic_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When secret plans are stolen from spy Colonel Edrington and his contact, Mr. Tapling, by pirates, Troy makes her return to assist in returning the documents to The Hotspur while stirring up her brand of trouble along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hornblowerfic.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hornblowerfic.com). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Hornblowerfic.com collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hornblowerfic/profile).

The long boat moved swiftly and silently, cutting the shimmering cerulean waves, as placid and as smooth as glass. The large, round Caribbean moon sat impassively in the deep velvet of the night sky, watching like a heavy, lazy eye and the small vessel gently bumped against the white sand of the beach and two rough-looking men jumped out, wading through the compliant tide. A man was waiting there for them, nervously shifting from one foot to another as his eyes darted into every inch of darkness, frightened he was being watched. He gave a small start as the sea-hardened men approached, not having heard them land in the secluded cove, and tried to pull himself up to make himself more imposing. He began to tremble, however, when the new arrivals stepped into the moonlight and their faces were revealed. The first's face was a map of scars, an empty eye socket gaping out at the sentry, his sickening grin a mangle of crooked and rotted teeth.

The second was a bit more elegant, or as elegant as pirates come, with his long, matted black hair and beard, golden rings woven into his tangled raven locks and a gold tooth shining out from a menacing smile. He wore a crimson velvet frock coat with braid and decoration long since faded and worn. He spread his arms and gave what passed for a slight bow in introduction while the other hung back; this would be the captain then. Captain Jack Knightly, the infamous "Black" Jack. The sentry swallowed hard, almost cowering as the captain drew near, wringing the missives in his hands between fidgety fingers. "What ho, man," grinned Jack, taking in the militarily presence of his "contact"; the lobster red of his jacket, the short cropped hair that was now the fashion within the ranks of the British army. "Got wot I come fer?"

The sentinel, Lieutenant Harold Rogers, nodded uneasily, too eagerly thrusting the package of documents forwards. Jack took them from him leisurely, carefully searching through the papers as Rogers looked on impatiently, sweating profusely. "They're all there," the lieutenant practically squeaked out. "Do I get my reward now?"

"Aye," Jack smiled viciously, "aye, you get yer reward. Lews!," he called to the second man, beckoning him forth. "Give this kind soul his...reward." Rogers never even saw the knife before the blade, glittering with moonlight, cut his throat open.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Horatio Hornblower shaded his eyes from the strong glare of the tropical sun; its yellow rays blanching everything from the island shore to the placidly roiling sea. He felt a bead of sweat roll down the stiff collar of his prim shirt and woolen jacket. He couldn't decide which was worse as he sought shelter from the burning rays of the sun beneath a tall, gently swaying palm tree: the heat of the West Indies or the numbing sleet of a winter in Portsmouth. He heard the minor commotion at his back as four smartly dressed soldiers were brought aboard.

"Commander Hornblower," a velvety voice said and he turned to meet its owner, a colonel with impeccable bearing, tightly arranged golden curls smoothed into perfect order and the glowing brownish hue of one who had been stationed in this damnable place for some time.

"Colonel Edrington," Horatio let a small smile play across his lips as he addressed the newly arrived man as his lordship's three companions fell into formation behind him. Both men were still adjusting to the other's altered title as the commander saluted his old friend with a firm tug of his hat. "I would have liked for our re-acquaintance to have been made under...better circumstances."

"Indeed," the young Earl gave a short sigh, his dark eyes falling onto the crumpled shape of youthful Lieutenant Rogers, the sun-bleached sand turned darkly burgundy and congealed from the man's spilt blood. He made s small sound of disgust, a slight clicking of his tongue against his teeth, as he said, "Dead men tell no tales. Or so they say. I'm afraid this one had quite a bit to say; we've been watching him for sometime."

"A spy?" Horatio asked, lifting a dusky eyebrow. A spy, fantastic; he'd really landed himself inside the hornets' nest this time. If only the Hotspur had made better time, if only they had caught a wind, they would be halfway across the Atlantic by then. But his luck, or lack thereof, had held and they had been the closest ship when the Colonel's delegation had signaled their distress.

Edrington confirmed Hornblower's suspicions with a curt nod. "We were hoping to smoke him out, catch him at his game; we never suspected this. Our envoy was carrying extremely sensitive documents, they've gone missing..."

"Through no fault of my own," a new voice joined the discussion. A portly man bustled towards them, dabbing his forehead with a dainty white handkerchief. Horatio gave a start; would recognize the little man anywhere, his salted gray curls dampened with sweat, his rotund suited shape: Mr. Tapling. "Mr. Hornblower...Commander, is it now? Good work with that, lad. Now, the documents; I must state irrefutably that they never left my sight. The boy--most unfortunate, that--must have come upon them whilst I slept and still then he must have been very adroit in his attentions to my habits to wrest them from me even in a slumbering state."

"Pirates," the Earl of Edrington said dryly. "A simple French or Spanish emissary would not have been so sloppy as to leave our Mr. Rogers here; they would have either left him in our company to keep us on watch or would have disposed of the body. This...this is far too...unpleasant."

Horatio opened his mouth to speak though, admittedly, his throat had gone arid when a boat carrying Mr. Orrock, a midshipman aboard the Hotspur, took ashore and the bright-faced Irishman came striding towards them purposely, attempting to appear casual though his long, anxious gait gave him away. He saluted uneasily, practically bouncing from foot to foot as he stood before his superiors. "Sir, compliments of Mr. Bush, sir."

"Out with it, Mr. Orrock," said Horatio, a bit more tersely than he'd meant to.

"A ship, sir," Mr. Orrock told him, the words spilling from his lips, "spotted coming in from the west. Mr. Bush requests your presence aboard Hotspur, sir. Immediately," he added, rather hurriedly. "Sir."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Pirates," Mr. Prowse growled through gritted teeth, turning to see Lieutenant Bush's reaction as the man put a sleek, gleaming spyglass to his eye. In the distance he could see the ship approaching, turning purposely around an island cape, behind which they had emerged moments ago. It was a large vessel, brightly splashed in colors, rich blues and audacious yellows. Rising from the water, which seemed to part not from the impact of the ship but rather in anticipation of it, was an intricately carved figure of a skeleton, its torso's ashen ribcage ascendant from the waves and tapering off to a slim spined neck to a slightly inclined head whose empty eye sockets seemed to be glaring outwards. Its bony arms reached up and out, entwining to form the jutting bow.

"It doesn't look good," Bush agreed grimly, lowering the spyglass. "Prepare the guns; as soon as the captain is aboard..."

"The captain is aboard," Horatio said briskly, rushing to join them with Mr. Orrock and Colonel Edrington neatly on his heels, "and belay that." Bush thought he detected something resembling a smirk pass across his friend and superior's mouth. "Signal them," he ordered and when Mr. Prowse began to object, he offered only the straightforward yet all the more confusing clarification, "The Elizabeth Alleyn, I'm familiar with her. Perhaps fate and fair winds are in our favor after all; her captain may very well be able to assist us." This time, Bush was sure he saw a smile on Horatio's lips.

"But, pirates, sir..." Prowse glowered.

"Privateers, Mr. Prowse," Horatio corrected, "in his Majesty's service. Signal her; I will be in my quarters, alert me when she has responded. Colonel Edrington, if you will accompany me?" The Earl gave an abrupt nod and followed as Commander Hornblower descended the stair to the foredeck and disappeared into his offices.

"Pirates, privateers," grunted Mr. Prowse, "bloody murderers, the lot of them, if you ask me."

"That will be all, Mr. Prowse," Bush shot the man a glare of warning.

"Yes, sir," the man replied tersely, folding his arms behind his back as his mouth became a thin line of disgust. Bush turned away from him, hiding his own doubts and questions concerning Horatio's behavior, and spotted Matthews and Styles leaning curiously against the rail, craning their necks as if eager to get a better view of the incoming craft. They seemed excited more than awestruck or fearful, as he would have expected them to be.

"Can yer see 'er?" he overheard Styles ask.

"It's 'er, a'right," Matthews answered almost triumphantly and Bush couldn't help but feeling as if he'd been left out on the joke.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"It *is* good to see you again, Joseph," Horatio said, settling back into the rather uncomfortable looking chair behind his large oak desk. He gestured towards a small table at the corner of the sparsely decorated room where a decanter and several crystal glasses rested. "Brandy?" he asked; the Earl of Edrington declined with a inclination of his head, taking a seat across from Horatio.

"And I was much glad to discover it was you who came to our aid," sighed Edrington, obviously tired as he removed his hat and wearily rubbed his eyes. "Both the guards I put on Rogers: murdered. Good men. So help me, Horatio, I never thought it would come to this." After a moment, he rose and strode over to the brandy, pouring himself a glass. "This ship of yours, your mysterious allies; I must admit, I am intrigued. I didn't imagine you to be the type to dawdle with pirates and their lot." There was a hint of amusement in his tone, a slight smirk upon his wry face.

Horatio's body stirred at the memory, the blood rushing to his lower abdomen like a river as he remembered his first encounter with The Elizabeth Alleyn. He found his cock hard and restless against the rough material of his linen shirt and woolen breeches, the sensation of it growing and engorging making him bite his lip before he could utter any sound that might give him away. He shifted his legs and covertly gave his rigid organ a harsh stroke through his layers of clothes, concealing a blissful groan. His nipples puckered and chafed, his senses becoming hyper-aware. He focused on Edrington, trying to take his mind off those matters for the time being. "I saved her captain once," Horatio flashed a sheepish yet mischievous grin.

Edrington eyed his friend up and down keenly, perceiving there was much that Horatio was holding back. He was curious to pursue the matter, though Hornblower remained most decidedly tight-lipped when pressed indirectly for details. The captain of The Elizabeth Alleyn had been a close friend of Archie Kennedy's as well, the mention of which made Horatio flush slightly; a very odd reaction considering that mention of the late lieutenant usually made the commander cheerless and introverted. That response was still evident in the young man but as was this strange sense of...what? Could it be arousal?

Horatio debated warning the Earl what was to come, though, in the end, he decided it was easiest to let them all see for themselves. While he enjoyed Edrington's company, he friend's ever increasingly inquiring questioning. He was relieved when Mr. Orrock knocked upon the cabin door and entered, saluting both the men and informing them that The Elizabeth Alleyn had received their signal and had dispatched a long boat that should be reaching The Hotspur at any moment.

The sun hit Horatio's face like a blinding flare, an explosion of heat and light; he was sure he was developing a burn across his cheeks. The men were all standing stiffly at attention, unsure of their visitors about to come aboard but never daring to challenge their captain's judgment. Mr. Tapling was first and foremost at the railing where the pirates would be boarding, convincing all that he had everything under control and to leave everything to him.

Styles and Matthews shared a grin, both offering their sturdy arms over the side and hauling up the first of the two Elizabeth Alleyn crew members: a large, muscled man, bald to the bone on top with tattoos adorning his face and arms in exact and swirling patterns He wore a simple tunic, tied at the waist by a garish sash, thick pants covered in patches and repairs and dirty but reliable boots. He looked around, sussing out the situation with hard, glassy eyes, his bulky arms crossed tightly against his chest. He caught Horatio's eye and the two exchanged a respectful and confident nod. He then turned to the rail and gestured to the long boat's second occupant, a motion of reassurance. He then reached down along with Matthews and Styles to assist in the second's ascent to the deck of The Hotspur.

"Bloody hell!" rang an exclamation as the second, smaller figure appeared over the side. "Sodding frocks!" she said, straightening her long, striped skirt and long, plum-colored frock coat. It was a girl, a woman really, but certainly no lady. Horatio smiled; she was just as beautiful as he remembered, no, more so, with her face having matured into a more feminine version of itself though she was still rather boyish; her slender body still displayed how easily she could be taken for a lad when disguised as one, as she was when they first met. Her brown hair, which now fell loosely and wispily well to her waist, was haloed with sun-bleached flaxen swirls, her hazel eyes, framed with those lush gray lashes, glowed with flecks of brown and gold.

Mr. Tapling look completely and desperately at a loss for words; Horatio almost pitied the man. It was Commander Hornblower who spoke first, putting the ambassador out of his misery. "Captain Troy Alleyn, welcome to The Hotspur." Her eyes flashed towards him and then widened momentarily in surprise. She mouthed his name, her lips quirking upwards at the corners as she regained her composure.

There were murmurs all around as everyone tried to discern exactly whom Horatio had addressed. Finally, Troy stepped forward and gave him something of a theatrical flourish; bloody pirates, always so demmed dramatic. Her eyes searched his uniform for clues as to his rank, her brain turning over with all she knew about naval dressing and position, which was clearly not an exceptional amount. Horatio caught her eye and mouthed the word 'commander' to her; her smile widened. "Commander," she pronounced the title loudly and clearly, "Horatio Hornblower, it is an honor to make your re-acquaintance. You know my first mate, Mr. Welles."

"Indeed," Horatio briskly tipped his hat to the man who stood at least two heads taller than his captain. "It was an extraordinary piece of luck that we should run into you as we could use your help in matters you are more familiar with than we."

Troy wasted no time in cutting to the chase. "Jack Knightly," she spat out contemptuously, "Captain of The Black Jack. We've been following the blackguard for three weeks now."

"Duty?" Lord Edrington asked with a barb barely veiled within his voice. "Or is it for the good of King and Country?"

"None of the above," responded Troy with aplomb and equal condescension. "He happens to have quite the mark upon his head; it's the reward we're after. Gold marks too, the kind of currency that speaks to the locals out here." She grinned, returning her attention to Horatio. "Commander, I am **fully** at your disposal."


	2. Chapter 2

Troy lifted the crystal carafe off the corner table, pulling the stopper out and taking a sniff of its amber liquid as she kept the pretense of listening to Mr. Tapling as he, in great boring detail, described the situation at hand. She wrinkled her nose distastefully at the weakness of the snifter, setting the brandy aside; she preferred the punch of pure pirate rum.  
  
Horatio was sitting patiently at his desk, his long, elegant fingers steepled and pressed to his luscious mouth, his gaze serious and stern as he listened with growing alarm to the tale the diplomat had to tell. It was this that instigated Troy's interest in the matter at hand; she had been taught, and taught well, to respect authority and Horatio was that authority now. His expression was unreadable: so very far away and, in some ways, personally distant though at times she caught within his stare that flicker of lust; of wanting and of possession.  
  
At the far side of the room, the pompous fair-haired colonel watched cynically; his sharp eyes, like onyx set into dark, rich coffee, followed her. She found it a tad unnerving, his stare producing in her belly and between her legs that deliciously hot, slick reaction of stimulation. He was an arrogant bastard, but, then again, Troy always did like a challenge.  
  
She turned her gaze back to Horatio and the feeling only intensified. How many lonely nights had she spent wishing for his company, his touch, his taste; how many men had there been who could never fully satiate her appetites? How many times had she called his name in the heat of passion? But these thoughts were not for now and she forced them to the back of her mind, trying to ignore her body's demanding reactions as she turned again to Mr. Tapling.  
  
The missives the ambassador was carrying contained sensitive information on the enemy occupation of the fevered isles, gathered painstakingly by a group of His Majesty's elite, of which the Earl of Edrington was a part. Spies, Troy thought with a smirk, though they were far too polite to name it like it was. Mr. Tapling provided the venture an air of respectability, deceptively double-talking at the Dago and Froggy emissaries while drawing attention away from his comrades. Troy had no trouble discerning why such a commodity would be of value to someone like Black Jack; as long he was holding such an item, he could ask any price, promising to turn it over to the highest bidder.  
  
"He's a wily bugger, to be sure," Troy said when Tapling had finally finished his tale. "There are stacks of places for his lot to lie low until he can put the item on the market, as it were. I can sniff around; I know many of the sites men like him go to hide, the cracks in the earth."  
  
"For the reward," Edrington stated sardonically, arching one aristocratic eyebrow at her. Troy felt a tide of slippery moisture flood the gap at the juncture of her thighs; just the sound of the man's voice, buttery and smooth like the most scrumptious sweet, was enough to provoke her. She'd love to lick him off her fingers like the remnants of a sticky, creamy piece of toffee.  
  
"Aye, the reward," she responded evenly. "I figure it must have doubled...no, tripled," her eyes widened in exaggerated enthusiasm, "since his little...incident with your men." She couldn't be sure, but she thought she detected just the suggestion of a smirk upon His Lordship's lips.  
  
"If that is all, gentlemen," Horatio's voice declared calmly with a persuasive air of confidence, the edge of his tone sending a delightful shudder down Troy's spine. Even though her eyes were on Mr. Tapling, she could feel Horatio's stare burning into the back of her neck, making her ache from the feathery strands of her hair right down to the tips of her toes. He stood and properly accompanied them out onto the deck where Mr. Bush was standing beside Mr. Welles; the former's green-gray gaze telling his captain he was none too happy about being in the latter's presence. Mr. Welles stood dead still, seemingly not perceiving the uneasiness he was causing amongst the crew.  
  
Horatio spoke his formal goodbyes to his comrades and the Colonel, with Mr. Tapling in tow, departed in a long boat to raze their makeshift camp in the secluded cove near the island's isolated beach. Troy stole a moment alone with the ever watchful, ever distrustful Mr. Welles. "Return to The Elizabeth," she instructed him, glancing around to make sure none could eavesdrop, "and keep our colors hidden; no need to hoist the Jolly Roger just yet. And keep an eye on Swann," she lowered her voice. "Things oughtn't get complicated just now." The solemn man nodded, his bald scalp reflecting the colors of the sunset.  
  
"Horatio, are you sure about this?" Bush said in an undertone, casting a sideways glare at Captain Alleyn and her behemoth of a companion as they spoke alone. He trusted his friend implicitly but something about this had a fetid air to it, something beyond just the involvement of these buccaneers.  
  
"They are old friends, Will," Horatio reassured him firmly. "I know that it may seem like an odd choice," he continued, and to Bush, it indeed did; Horatio was courageous but often cautious and yet it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to his superior to put his faith in a woman, no more than a girl, and a band of misfits and scoundrels. King and Country be damned; Bush knew there was only one thing a pirate, or privateer as the called themselves in service to the crown, cared for: the reward. And they would often times do anything to gain it. "Troy was a trustworthy friend to Archie as well as myself, and she pledged loyalty to Admiral Pellew when we first encountered her aboard Indefatigable," he attempted to explain, perhaps a bit too defensively.  
  
"I don't know what she means to you, Horatio." It was the statement of a friend; not the inferior officer that he was but the companion he had been to Hornblower beginning during their time on The Renown. "Nor what she meant to Archie; I cannot possibly begin to fathom what it is you're feeling, what emotions you hold for her. But Horatio, Maria..." He let his words trail off as soon as he had spoken the name. Horatio's wife; Bush held no love for her and, indeed, felt it to be a low pairing, the woman being no match for Hornblower intellectually or privately. But she was his wife and, despite his words to the contrary, he could sense some of what Horatio was feeling for Troy; it was coming off of his commander in waves.  
  
Horatio shot him what could only be described as a glower, a warning that he had overstepped his bounds. "Now, Mr. Bush," he said loudly, straightening and folding his arms behind his back, "I have business to attend to. If you will?" he swept his arm grandly across the deck. "She's all yours."   
  
'And she,' he thought, glancing at Troy, 'is all mine!'  
  
Bush only nodded, mumbling beneath his breath, "I hope you know what you are doing," as he gave a tug upon his hat. Horatio barely could contain a self-satisfied grin; he knew what he was doing all right.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"You don't suppose," Mr. Tapling contemplated aloud, rubbing one pudgy forefinger across his chin, right below his lower lip as he looked back towards The Hotspur and glimpsed her captain followed closely behind by Captain Alleyn.  
  
"No, I don't suppose," replied Colonel Edrington with a suggestive look. "I'm pretty damned sure of it, old man. The diplomat gasped scandalously but his expression was one more of gossip than of embarrassment.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Horatio kept his gaze straight ahead even when he heard Troy's even footsteps following his own as he strode into the captain's cabin. The door clicked closed quietly behind her and it was only when he was comfortably seated in the chair behind his desk that he turned his attentions upon her. His eyes smoldered with hunger like those of a tiger waiting to swallow up its prey, his thick tongue darting out to moisten his full, succulent lips; it sent a tremble throughout her, a throbbing within her wet insides, the core of her femininity.  
  
"Finally," she said huskily, stalking towards the desk in a steady step and pulling herself up onto its polished oaken surface. On her hand and knees, she crawled its length to where Horatio was seated, watching her greedily. "Alone at last," she murmured, leaning forward to brush her lips against his. With a savage growl, he slipped his big, powerful hand beneath the unruly tendrils of her hair and, cupping the back of her neck, pulled her roughly towards him so that their mouths collided with a molten fervor as his fat tongue pushed between her thin lips, ravaging the damp velvet within. He sucked leisurely upon her bottom lip, enjoying the view her position on all fours afforded; her diaphanous, lace-lined blouse gaped open in a 'V' underneath her frock coat, her small, firm breasts exposed to his heated gaze and touch. He reached inside, cupping a plush mound of flesh as he felt the peak pebbled against his palm.  
  
She gasped as he massaged the taut nipple, a tingling spreading like lightning from the delicate nub right through her trembling body and to the quivering bud hidden within the folds of her pussy. The tips of his long fingers were rough, causing such sweet friction against her puckered breast. She'd fantasized about those fingers, wanting to feel their heat and their texture against her eager skin. He raised his hand to where their mouths joined, slipping a finger against his satiny tongue, coating it with glistening wetness. He returned it to her nipple, rubbing the jutting blossom, massaging it with the heated moisture from his lips. Almost absently, he told her in a low husky voice, "Amy, there are things I need to tell you..." It was clear his mind was not focused upon the statement; in truth, he'd the urge to do many things to Troy, none of which concerned discussion. The fragrance of her was exhilarating; he had waited long for this moment and he would not impair with remorseful thoughts of Maria.  
  
"Horatio," she whispered, little pants verging on moans escaping her throat, "it's been so long, so long. So long," she grinned, placing a small hand upon his thigh. She felt him, the hardened thick column of his cock struggling, straining to be free against his trousers. "And so hard and so large!" she giggled.  
  
Grinning wickedly, he released he head from his grasp and ran his hands down her body: the sinewy and curved expanse of her back, the round plumpness of her bottom, which he cupped momentarily and gave a smart squeeze and a little slap to, down to the backs of her thighs. He moved unexpectedly, wrapping his fingers 'round the back of her knees and tugging firmly. She gave a squeal of surprise as she fell back flat onto her rump, her palms flat against the desk's surface as he pulled her legs out from under her until they were dangling over the side in front of him. She gave a short, giddy laugh, provocatively placing each of her feet up on the arm of his chair on either side of him. His countenance was one of stern seriousness and lecherous domination as he tenderly caressed her firm calves, his nose nuzzling at her chest, pushing her blouse aside as he sought the sensitive little bulb at the summit of her tit. He pulled at it with his tongue, delighting in the cry she let out as gave a playful nip before closing his full lips around it and suckling her like a covetous newborn babe at his mother's teat.  
  
She could do nothing but cradle him to her, tightly entwining her fingers in his soft cascade of chestnut curls, gasping as he nursed her unrelentingly. She was sighing, breathing in rhythm to his mouth's contraction around the hard nub, his broad tongue rolling around her aureole in circles, driving her to the brink of madness. Fresh, sultry wetness bloomed within her nether regions as she opened her thighs wider for his shrewdly probing hands. She thought she'd climax right then and there as she felt his deft fingertips brush the soft brunette down that sheltered her enthusiastically aching sex.  
  
Feeling the plump, rosy lips, coyly parted to reveal the apex of her rigid clitoris like a pearl placed within the mouth of a buxom lass begging for a kiss, made him thirst for the silken nectar he felt spreading between his fingers. It had been such a long time since he felt true lust; desire not just craving. He was surprised to realize how much he still loved Troy, how much being in her company even for a short time had inflamed all of his old passions he'd thought had long since expired with his marriage. Without so much as a hint of hesitation, he plunged a long, slender finger into her tight sheath, feeling the velvety skin tighten around him. He added a second, then a third, stretching her until she was completely full of him.  
  
"Good Gawd, 'Ratio," she nearly screamed, falling back onto her elbows and arching her back and moving her hips in time to his ministrations. He tipped his fingers to massage her tender upper wall, hitting with precision that delicious pressure point that sent jolts of ecstasy soaring throughout her body. She was shaking, literally melting in his hand, crying out to him as her crest came, nearly drowning her in its undertow. She was still trembling with the strength of her pleasure when she felt her skirt being pushed up her waist and felt the searing touch of his fat tongue push into the sodden folds of her womanhood.  
  
He searched the bedewed petals, lapping up her briny ambrosia as he searched for that pearl; he drew the kernel of flesh between his lips and sucked noisily, the vibrations of his sounds of delectation tickling her very core as he slurped and groaned. Troy felt as if she was in heaven, one sensation of delight hitting her after another as she writhed against him. Removing his fingers, he replaced them with his tongue; oh, that tongue! "It's as big as a cock!" she exclaimed, gasping as he thrust the large muscle into her yielding softness. He licked her very essence as it flowed from her, swirling his tongue against her satiny flesh in order to drink up everything she had to give him.  
  
Feeling his large hands cup her breasts once again, she climaxed, gripping his head between his thighs, thrashing her head back and forth as she pumped against his hungry mouth as she watched the fireworks dance in front of her eyes, the tingling of warmth spreading like a flood from her tummy and reaching all the way into her fingertips. He stayed inside of her, consuming the hot secretions she produced for him, because of him. He felt the power, the possession over her, wanting more and more. As she sobbed his name, he wanted to sup her until she was dry, until she begged for his mercy, twisting and curling around him. She was his, even after all these years, nothing had changed between them and she was experiencing the same joy at their joining as he.  
  
"Amy," he whispered, lifting her slight body into his arms like a rag doll. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he could feel the salty tears she had shed in the heat of fulfillment against his burning skin as she straddled him in his chair, burying her face into the place beneath his ear at the joint of his jaw. "You're a very naughty girl, Amy," he chuckled gruffly, nipping at her ear. He caught her chin in his hand and urged her to look at him in the eye; she was grinning amorously.  
  
"I am, Horatio," she said breathlessly, "I've been very naughty." She kissed him passionately, tasting her own excitement sticky on his lips and tongue, as her hands fell to his trousers; she could feel him, hard, pulsating, straining to be free of his fabric prison. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons, pushing what seemed to be yards of cloth aside until she felt him, hot and heavy, in her small hand.  
  
He was so erect it was almost painful, his ample length and plumpness stretching his flesh to its fullest, the engorged bulb at its tip was large and luscious, the color of a plum and glistening with the first salty drops of his pre-cum. He growled as she stroked him, feeling that tight, smooth skin move slightly with each motion of her hand. Bliss flickered across his face, his brown eyes almost black with his arousal. He stopped her and pulled her hand away, turning her back to him and shoving her up against his desk roughly. She spread her legs for him submissively and shouted as he drove his anxious member's full and impressive girth to its roots in one greedy shove. She felt him fill her like no other man had ever or would ever, the head of his dick pushing into her belly. She wiggled her bottom and felt the sting of his hand; he grinned at her sinfully, telling her wordlessly that this was his game. He moved then, pummeling her, uttering savage oaths as she moved with him, feeling him drag along the slippery walls of her cunny, pulling them with him as if they were loath to allow him to pull out, her inner lips sucking at him as he pulled almost all the way out and then thrust back in.  
  
Still swimming the breakers of her last two orgasms, she came first, her inner muscles milking him as she shouted in rapture. Love, pleasure, possession, Troy; the sensations overwhelmed Horatio until he too followed her lead, spilling his hot shot deep into her womb; rush after molten rush erupted from him, dripping from her sweet little pussy, coating her thighs and his penis.  
  
Breathing as if he'd just run the length of France and back, he collapsed into his chair, brining her with him as he cradled her almost protectively in his arms, kissing her eyelid, her lips, her cheeks, her nose, and stroking her hair gently. She burrowed into him, both of them feeling that magnificent feeling of satisfaction and lethargy spread throughout them. Troy yawned and giggled, squirming against him. "I love you, Horatio."  
  
He felt his throat close as an immense sense of pride and joy that he had not felt in ages swell up in him, his cock still rather stiff, awaiting further attentions. She smiled up at him and kissed him upon the lips. "I love you too, my Amy," he muttered, rubbing the side of his nose against hers, placing little sucking kisses against her lips. "I think it's time for bed, don't you?" he smirked like the cat that had just snatched the canary.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mmmmmm, what are you doing?" Troy smiled drowsily, the lower half of her naked body wrapped up in the cool, smooth sheets of the captain's bunk, her breasts smothered in the moderately plush feather mattress as she lay on her stomach. Horatio's slender, sensuous fingers were drawing lazy circles on the small of her back, the heat of his breath gently warming her shoulder. She giggled as he nipped at her earlobe, nuzzling her throat. She opened her eyes, gazing languorously into his smoldering chocolate stare, sighing contentedly.

"Don't move," he instructed her, the corner of his succulent mouth turning upwards in a small, gratified smirk. "I'm making a map."

"A map," she gave an embellished gasp, leaning into his tender touch. "Does it lead to treasure?"

His smirk expanded, his sumptuous touch moving lower as his fingertips traced patterns against the small cheeks of her backside, moving to the place where her buttocks met her thighs and sliding between the two fleshy swells. He grinned at her breathless reaction. "It could," he said mischievously, sliding his finger easily into the juicy, swollen lips of her sex. She arched her back, pushing her bottom playfully against his hand.

She groaned, biting her lips and she rubbed herself against him luxuriously like a playful kitten. "Mmm, no more, 'Ratio," she moaned, burying her face into the pillow. "Have mercy on me, love," she panted, the movements of her hips, slight thrusts against his finger which was stroking firmly the taut little nubbin of her clitoris, betraying her words. He removed the questing digit, now shimmering with the salty nectar of her sex; he licked it clean before urging her unto her back and filling her with the fervent, rigid extent of his velvety-steel cock. There hadn't been a moment all throughout the night when his manhood hadn't been at least partially erect, ardent, and enthusiastic for the appetizing feel of her body. Leisurely, he rode her, driving them both to bliss again as he kissed her elfin lips.

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw the dewy glistening of tears in her green-gold eyes when he told her about Archie's unfortunate fate; he knew that she had loved him as well as he had. She had turned her head away, pretending to fall back into slumber but he had caught the tiny catch in her otherwise even breathing. He had calmly laid himself beside her, continuing his soothing caress against her bared back until the persuasive rays of dawn reached Horatio's cabin and roused them both.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Good Gawd," she choked, spitting out a mouthful of dark brown, almost black, liquid and placing the mug on the far end of his desk, away from herself, "that's not coffee, it's tar! If I were you, I'd have your steward hanging by the yardarm at high noon for this...this affront of a beverage!" She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. He was sure that Mr. Bush would have notice that she was wearing the same clothes as she had been togged up in yesterday though, most likely, she had been wearing the same outfit for the past couple of days. Her own crew would not even blink upon seeing her decked out in that audaciously striped skirt, faded white blouse, lined in lace, her knee-length plum-colored frock coat sashed with a scarf of deep russet. Her long, golden-brown hair fell freely down her back, tempting him to run his fingers through it.

Her garments, as well as her presence so early aboard The Hotspur, had drawn not just a few stares and whispered comments from the crew. Praise Matthews, who had loudly observed that it was good of Captain Alleyn to have joined them so ahead of schedule, throwing a wink in Troy's direction, though no one could seem to remember her leaving the night before or arriving at dawn.

"Styles," he sighed, taking a seat behind his desk. "Styles is my steward. It's only temporary," he scowled vaguely at her stunned look, "until I can work something out. I lost my last steward under...difficult circumstances."

"Mr. Styles?!" she laughed, holding her belly as the guffaws came from her freely. "*My* Mr. Styles, your steward?! Mr. Styles, the pirate?!" He confirmed with an abrupt nod, and she continued to chuckle as she examined the contents of his plate: a greasy mess of what had probably been a potato, shredded and fried in the same pan as a large, oily egg and a few sausages. "That certainly explains a few things," she cocked an amused eyebrow, picking up one of the bangers with her fingers and taking a hungry bite. "Not bad," she determined, popping the rest of the meat roll into her mouth and licking the fat from her hand.

"He's getting better," replied Horatio meekly, stirring the food upon his platter distastefully with a fork before setting the utensil aside and pushing his breakfast tray away. A knock upon the cabin door announced Bush's presence and Horatio bid him entrance with the barked command of, "Come!"

"Sir," the first lieutenant said, slipping inside and throwing Troy an uneasy glance. His feelings towards the woman had altered somewhat during the night; while he still felt it was folly to follow a woman who, worse indeed, was no more than a girl. And the specter of Mrs. Hornblower hovered close to his conscience; though he personally felt the marriage had been an act of idiocy, she was a sincere woman if extremely dull and somewhat grating to the nerves. Captain Alleyn, on the other hand, appeared to make Horatio, his superior, and, more importantly, Horatio, his friend, contented. She had unquestionably made him tremendously contented last night, several times...quite boisterously, as overheard by the lieutenant and anyone within earshot, which was, in fact, at least half of the crew.

Horatio had always declined the company of doxies, no matter how reputable their talents and position, and yet he shared his passion, something well concealed in so reserved a man and so seldom given away, openly with this coarse, bawdy chit. He wondered at their past; could they really have been and, in fact, still in love? He felt perhaps he had been unfair as to her character and sought to remedy that...to some extent. She was still a pirate, and that made him decently uneasy. "Sir, we've reached the rendezvous point," he informed them. "We'll be in sight of the cove shortly; The Elizabeth Alleyn is already waiting."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The crew of The Elizabeth Alleyn were already milling about the small inlet, shuffling their feet in the white tropical sand of the minor island Troy had picked for their meeting place when the modest party from The Hotspur, including Mr. Tapling, Colonel Edrington and two of his men, arrived ashore. "It's secluded," Troy explained to them, "but not remote; it sees a fair amount of traffic from persons such as myself. We won't be bothered." She smiled slyly when she noticed that Mr. Tapling had covered his mouth and nose with a dainty handkerchief, trying to obscure the...curious odor of the men surrounding him.

"Morning constitutional," Mr. Welles grinned, handing her a clay jug of potent rum and giving her a wallop on the shoulder that would have toppled even a hardy man. She took a long sip, grimacing at the powerful taste but throwing him a appreciative smile. "Looked like ye could use it, lass, as like you didn't get much sleep last night," he said wryly, laughing as she looked somewhat abashed for a moment.

"Our friend, Swann?" she asked in a slight undertone, hoping not to draw attention and the inevitable curiosity from her companions. Though she seemed to be focusing on the ground as she strode confidently on, her eyes secretly moved to the young man seated on a nearby barrel, his pretty face shaded from the blaring sun by on old, battered tri-corn. His stare met hers, lucid, liquid blue to gold-rimmed hazel; she quickly shifted her interest elsewhere. She should have known better than to underestimate Horatio; he was listening to their every exchanged word, as was the Colonel, for that matter.

"Just like ye said," Welles confirmed with a slow nod, clearing his throat with an apparent 'har-uhm' when he noticed that all ears were turned to them. She conceded with a jerk of her head and he concluded with a sigh, "He was orf sometimes 'round midnight; met a boat out 'round the cape near Port Capitola."

"Should we be worried?" the Earl of Edrington queried, his dark stare following her own to the boy settled casually and fairly arrogantly upon his perch.

"Zechariah Swann," clarified Troy. "Joined the crew about six months back when we were up patrolling the American coast. He's Dawg's bastard son," she said as if it meant something and, indeed, it seemed to explain much to Horatio. "He believes to have some claim on The Elizabeth; he was waiting for his moment and now it seems it has come. We have come to the conclusion as of late that he is in fact working with Black Jack; a motive, colonel," she shot a look at Edrington, "for our cooperation. He'll lead us to Knightly. And I think Port Capitola is the perfect place to begin our hunt, don't you? You see, I have my own spies; savvy?"

They reached the head of the loitering crowd and Troy attempted to get their attention with a wave of her hand. When it failed, she was annoyed to see Edrington with a wry smirk upon his lips, as if he was barely containing a polite chuckle. Her indignation rose as she tried a second time and, once again, was unsuccessful; his lordship's, grin twisting further. Why was she allowing him to get under her skin so, to vex her as he did. All right, playtime was over. She seized hold of the pistol tucked into the sash at her waist. She aimed it in the air and fired, the shot ringing against the rocky coast as she shouted, "Shut yer holes, ye bunch of scurvy toads!" There was silence as all eyes turned to her. *That* was much better.

"I'm givin' ye the chance to leave now," she announced, "if, of course, ye be too cowardly to take down no less 'en ol' Black Jack Knightly hisself!" Her captive audience cheered, showing support with raised fists and enthusiastic if somewhat colorful bellowed expressions. "Of course, should ye leave now, you'll miss out 'en yer share o' the gold we receive in reward!" To this, the men laughed, still calling out their encouragement.

"Long live our captain!" a voice called in the back and another joined in with, "Long live Captain Alleyn!" Mr. Welles led the men in a 'hip-hip hoorah!' as the chattering rose again, most of the men discussion and boasting about what they were going to do with their share of the reward. Beaming, Troy turned around and offered Horatio the jug of rum; he carefully wiped the lip of the container with his sleeve before taking a swig.

"Now, 'at was effective," Styles grinned his approval as he and a few of The Hotspur's men commenced in loading the long boats with supplies offered by The Elizabeth.

Matthews laughed. "Cap'n Troy knows what she's doin', like our own Commander Hornblower," he added, much to the endorsement of his fellow crewmates and the close at hand Mr. Orrock.

"Such lovely flowers," Mr. Bush observed, letting his long fingers play against the vivid, intense ruby petals of a nearby bloom, a bright golden stamen jutting out from its center where small rounded seed gathered at the shaft's base in glossy black globes. It was erotically suggestive in a way that he was sure he had never witnessed before; it made him blush to an extent, even as the brilliant blossom aroused a heat within him. The fragrance of the flora was intoxicating.

"Beautiful," agreed Troy, detaching herself from the shuffle all around them to talk with the lieutenant. "I've never seen the like of them elsewhere."

"Mrs. Hornblower would..." William cut himself off. He didn't know why he had mentioned Maria, what had possessed him to speak of her in terms of Horatio's wife. He felt guilt and dismay as he saw the look of confusion on Troy's face pass into tense comprehension. "I spoke out of turn; forgive me," he endeavored to express regret. He was a damned fool; just as he was beginning to take to the woman...He felt then a stab of envy, realizing what his body had known since he had first made Troy's acquaintance: there was a bit of jealousy to his actions regarding her. He felt completely abashed then, opening his mouth but no words could express what he did not fully grasp himself.

"No, please, don't," she strained a tight smile. "I should have realized. He...is a man of standing and..." She nodded, leaving the rest of the compulsory statement unsaid. "What's she like?" she asked guardedly.

"She's...thoughtful, gentle, compassionate," Bush said, feeling a more than a bit uncomfortable. "Her name is Maria, they married little more than a year ago. What can I say? Horatio can be a...difficult man and Mrs. Hornblower is...a saint." A saint? Was he canonizing the dull-witted cow now?!

"Yes, of course, he deserves no less," muttered Troy distastefully. Maria the pariah, she silently mocked the woman, straight away forming a mental picture of this Mrs. Hornblower: obtuse, sickeningly earnest with big, round adoring eyes like a dim, obedient animal. Yes, he deserved no less. It stung that Horatio had not even bothered to tell her of his matrimonial status, but then again, she hadn't really given him time to speak the first chance they had gotten alone. He had tried to say something, not very firmly but he had tried.

Fuck, this was doing her head in! She needed time alone to think this one through. She bid a tremendously shamefaced Bush a good day and skulked off to be by herself.


	4. Chapter 4

It's not as if she expected or even desired Horatio to have been fervently faithful to her memory all these years; that was just...well, silly! It's not as if she had been chastely saving herself for him; she'd more than luxuriated herself in the presence of many a handsome face and a willing cock. And it was true: he was a man of status and repute, and as such an esteemed naval officer, it would only make sense that he had taken a loyal and devoted wife. She would make him a lovely companion in social situations, parties, and functions and such. Did he have children by her? Was she prettier? Did he think of her when he was touching Troy's body? With an inarticulate cry, she hefted a heavy glass bottle of rum in to her hand and heaved it against a nearby rock; it shattered noisily and violently against the stone.

"You know what's the matter with people today?" a man slurred a grumble behind her, awoken briefly from his drunken stupor. It was Mr. Eaves, a fat little man who had worked as a journalist and civil servant in a town pillaged and burnt to the ground by a band of buccaneers. His fine silk frock coat had long since begun to fade and patches no adorned the embroidered fabric and his once neatly cropped silver hair now grew wild, thinning considerably on top. He looked to Troy with tiny, beady eyes, glassed over by drink and gleaming through his spectacles, and responded to his own question, "They have too many scruples." In spite of herself, she laughed and Eaves broke into a particularly loud rendition of a bawdy verse involving a lusty lady whose virtue was compromised by an entire band of swashbucklers whilst she cried for more.

Still giggling, she staggered off to the shoreline in the pale, clear moonlight, the tall palms gently swaying in the warm night breeze. It's not as if her mum and da had married; at last count he had been married exactly four times (at the same time) and yet he and her mum had loved each other well enough. Live in the here and now is what he had always told her, and she'd never gone wrong following his advice. She certainly would have laughed in Horatio's face if he had misguidedly proposed a union; she mused as she stripped off her jacket and skirt in an isolated grotto close to the peacefully rolling tide. She waded out into the lagoon and plunged into the soothingly tepid clear blue water.

She let the placid waves roll over her, soaking her shirt until it clung to her like second skin and surrounding her bare privates in a smooth caress as she parted her legs to allow the flow to stroke her there. Off in the distance, she could see the flickering of torchlight from the celebration down on the fine sand of the beach. Shouts could be heard: rowdy, inebriated calls and laughter.

Squinting her eyes in the opposite direction, she could see the outline of The Hotspur, silhouetted against the dark blue velvet of the night sky, stars seemingly twinkling in her sails. Horatio would be aboard her, not thinking on his doting wife but on the rampant erection the idea of Troy brought to him. He deserved a night to stew in his own juices, she reflected; serves him right. Roughly, as the image of him pumping his dick with his own hand flashed before her eyes, she thrust her hand into her own soaking pussy, arching as she put two fingers inside her satin sheath while a third fondled her clitoris strongly. She continued to pump herself until she was gasping for breath, her muscles tightening around her caress until she let out a shudder of a climax, squirming and writhing as she pinched her own nipples through her damp blouse.

Jealousy; argh, she hated the emotion and rarely felt it in the romantic arena but Horatio always seemed to bring out the most wicked parts of her, even as he dominated her into submission. She loved him and, although she had no expectations of giving up the life she lived just to make doe-eyes at him and hang off of his arm in adoration, batting her eyelashes, which would, frankly, be a joke, she felt a strong possessiveness when it came to him. She was terribly selfish, she knew, as was Horatio of her; he knew he held her beneath his thumb and flaunted it. She swam back to shore, ringing out her long golden-brown hair and making her way back to the alcove she'd left her clothes in, feeling the trickle of the temperate water tickling her skin as it ran down her legs from her sodden tresses and blouse.

She began gathering her garments when a smooth, leering voice took her by surprise, making her spin around to locate the source of the sound frantically; few people could sneak up upon her completely unawares, and those that could, she certainly would not want to meet in the dark of the night in naught but her dripping shirt.

"How's the water?" smirked Colonel Edrington, leaning nonchalantly against the cove wall.

She could feel his stare upon her, hotly taking in the sight of her nearly exposed body. The place between her thighs began to pound with fiery wetness, the lips of her sex swelling and throbbing as his eyes hungrily swept across her naked legs and paused at her belly. She wondered how long he'd been watching her.

"Enjoying the view, your lordship?" she said boldly and playfully, spreading her arms so he could better see her: the rigid, dusky berries of her nipples poking at the thin fabric of her top, the dark nest of soft hair at the apex of her legs, her blouse clinging to the tanned, sinewy flesh of her naked legs just below. She couldn't help but notice that his tongue had darted out of his mouth and had licked his lips in an almost voracious act.

He himself had shed his soldier's jacket, rolled up the crisp white sleeves of his shirt. He was barefoot, his elegant toes shifting through the fine grains of sand, his stocking discarded, leaving his ankles and calves unclothed. His flaxen curls were only loosely restrained in a casual queue, leaving strands of unruly locks to fall about his face and shoulders. He wore the most lascivious of grins, his dark eyes glittering with licentious amusement.

"I've seen worse," he shrugged, offhandedly scratching his chin.

Conceited, haughty, egotistical; he'd been called all that and more before and, much to his own entertainment, he'd found he had great reason to be. He could have any woman he wanted and he was scrumptiously aware of it. The idea of having a taste of Hornblower's woman was exceedingly tempting too, the little spitfire she was. He'd noticed the way she looked at him, the way her cheeks would color when she realized he was looking at her. She was practically eating out of the palm of his hand and would have her mouth gorged with something more before too long.

"You might want to work on your sweet talk, your lordship," she sniffed lightly, taking pleasure in this delectable game of seduction. "I'm sure that all your high-priced, posh whores fall over themselves to service you, but I am no whore nor am I interested in playing your obedient doxie, Earl of Big Girl's Blouse, your lordship of toffee-nosed cretins!"

The hunger between her legs begged for him to satiate it; she desired him, there was no denying that. She was intrigued by this game he was playing at, especially since it was working like a charm on her. Arrogant arsehole, she wanted to twine her fingers in those glossy, soft golden locks atop his head and shove his mouth between her legs, begging him to devour her like a banquet.

"You're missing all the merrymaking," she said huskily.

"Oh, but the best diversion was here," he grinned cunningly. "You put on quite a show." He was moving closer to her now; she could smell his masculine scent of sea salt spray and sweat. His muscles rippled like liquid beneath his skin, moving like a tiger stalking his prey, daring her to move. Her skin prickled with furious anticipation, her legs and lips parting for him as, with a growl, he wrapped her arms in the strong grip of his shrewd fingers and pulled her against him. He held her like that, tasting her rapid breaths, feeling the small, plush mounds of her breasts pressing against his solid chest.

"Let go of me," she challenged him excitedly, gasping as he shoved her up against the alcove's uneven rock wall. "Don't...let go of me," she panted. She spread her thighs, going up on tiptoes to press her burning sex against the hard protuberance of his rigid and eager manhood, wiggling her hips against him shamelessly. "Fuck me, fuck me hard. I'll make you cum...like an flood..." She was giddily intoxicated, her head spinning from both the drink she had had and the colonel's overpowering masculinity, her yearning for him.

"I don't doubt it, my darling," he chuckled, the confident sound reverberating deeply within him, rocking her with the thrill of his hunger. He defied her every expectation by not harshly pushing open her thighs and ravaging her with his furious prick, he gently slid his fingers beneath her chin and titled her face up to his and claiming her mouth in a passionate, savage but tender kiss. He tasted headily of cognac, his unyielding velvet tongue softly sampling the sweetness of her mouth, tasting, exploring, plundering so sweetly. She clung to him, whimpering faintly as he made love to her mouth with his own. "You're drunk," he murmured against her lips, supping lightly of each of the passion-swollen petals.

"A bit," she laughed breathlessly. "I suppose you'll just have to compromise my modesty and virtue." His eyes danced with silent mirth, sliding his hands down the sides of her body and back up again to catch the firm mounds of her breasts, rolling their rigid peaks between his thumb and forefinger.

"I suppose I will," he grinned, lowering his head and taking one of her dark nipples between his lips. The heat of his wet mouth proved delightful contrast to her drenched shirt, which hugged closely to the sensitive nub, and the coolness that the breeze had imbued the dampness of the fabric with. He suckled her through the linen, tugging with his teeth and nuzzling the pliant hillock of flesh. She was gasping, still grinding herself against him as the ache within her womb grew; such wonderful longing permeating her body, making her heart pound and her legs wobble like jelly. "Suck me," he commanded, straightening to his full height, at least a head and a half taller than she. He kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he made it thick and flat, plunging in and out in imitation of the act he craved for her to perform. He smiled superiorly as he smoothly urged her to her knees before him with a resolute clutch upon her shoulders.

She grinned up at him, capturing and possessing his gaze with her own; his eyes were glittering in the moonlight, thick and black with his arousal, smoldering with libidinous purpose. She ran her cool hands, her long, slim fingers over the protuberance in his trousers, feeling his excitement leap and twist under her light fondle. He grasped her hair in a fistful at the back of her head and gave it an insistent tug, reminding her of the task at hand.

"With your mouth," he muttered, his stomach contracting with every breath in expectation, "Fuck me with your mouth."

Nuzzling at the fabric of his breeches, inhaling the potent spicy aroma that came through the material at his crotch, her fingers made quick work of the fastenings. Slowly, she pulled his pants down, her touch reveling in the feel of his powerful physique, the thick yet graceful sinew of his buttocks and thighs. His manhood sprang forth, of average measurement lengthwise, perhaps a little longer, and of rare thickness. Distended, fully engorged with blood, it stood plump and stiff from its thick coating of golden fur that ran the expanse from his navel to the insides of his thighs. His testicles hung heavily and tightly from the space between his shaft and his anus, dusted themselves in his flaxen down. She ran her tongue around the burgeoning head of his rod, red like a luscious strawberry, shining with the brackish weeping of his bliss. He snarled like an animal as his grip tightened in her hair.

"Ker-ist almighty!" she exclaimed throatily. "It absolutely must be something in the food; there's no other explanation for it! The navy, the army; does His Majesty think the bigger the dick, the better the fighter?!"

"Seen a lot of His Majesty's cocks in service than, have you?" he replied, breathing heavily, almost aggressively.

"Cor, it'd make you blush!"

"I don't shock easily," he stated flatly though there was good humor to his tone. "How do I stack up then?"

"Well, you're a colonel, aren't you?" she smiled, bringing his manhood close to her lips, letting her moist breath tease it. "No half-rations for you, your lordship, sir!"

Flattening her tongue, she ran it from the tip of his cock's helmet to the ridge at its base, opening her mouth and swallowing him inch by inch until the inflamed cap bumped at the back of her throat. She slid her lips back and forth on him, coating him in her saliva as her lips sucked at his potent skin. With a groan that sent shivers all the way through him, she gulped him down, feeling him slither down and nestle into her throat, stretching the tight canal to accommodate his girth. His eyes burned with fevered furor as he watched her cuddle her nose into his wiry pelt, feeling her tongue lave his taut balls even as she feasted on his entire manliness.

Holding her head steady, he began to drive his prick into her mouth again and again. He smelled of pure maleness: tangy, sharp and intoxicating, and tasted even better; she had the urge to close her eyes and just enjoy allowing him to pound her but his delirious, salacious stare held her own in fervent fury as his hips began bucking wildly. Skillfully, she lashed at his assault, her tongue lapping at his driving cock and the pendulous sac that dangled beneath it; she was driving him insane with her expert ministrations, making him wild in the heat of rapture even while she took her own pleasure at his delectable movements and fierce invasion. Throwing his head back, he gave a brutal shout and, pulling her face into his groin, flooded her with his thick, spicy cum. She choked on it a bit, consuming as much of the ejaculations as she could with relish while letting the rest spill from her lips.

She fell backwards, panting violently as she licked the remainder of his essence from her lips and tongue. He was leaning heavily against the rocky cavern wall, head thrown back and eyes closed in rapture; sweat coated his face and made his shirt adhere to his torso.

"Good Gawd, woman, he huffed, breathing a breathless laugh; his penis never grew flaccid, it stayed in a semi-erect state. "You're a whirlwind! Have you any more of that rum of yours?"

It was her turn to smile slyly, shifting her hips upwards and spreading her legs; he caught a tantalizing glimpse of her darling little cunny hidden beneath her mat of bristly dark thatch, the dainty lips separating coyly to show just an alluring hint of her firm clitoris.

"I have a drink ten times as stimulating for you, my Lord."

He laughed, kicking his breeches off and pulling his shirt up over his head. In the moonlight, he looked like a golden god, the pale glow luminous on his slickened skin, accentuating the firm yet flowing lines of his brawn. At this rate, she'd have more than enough of her intoxicating liquid for him to eat up greedily!

"My, my, you *are* a naughty girl," he smirked, in one smooth motion laying himself down atop her on the cooling sand. "I shan't have to discipline you, now, shall I?"

She passed her tongue in a circle around her lips then teased the corners of his mouth with the tip, licking his lips. "You taste like custard," she grinned mischievously, adjusting her body to accept the weight of his; he felt wonderfully powerful and aggressive settling his hips between the cradle of her thighs. Tugging assertively at the cloth of her shirt, he managed to wrest it from her body, leaving her goose-bumped covered flesh exposed to his wicked touch and taste, savoring her like a sweet. Burying his curly blonde head between her legs, he slurped at her nectar, suckling at the nubbin hidden in the ripe folds of her sex until she was slippery as a waterfall. His tongue was sharp and clever like a blade, cutting her to the quick as he lapped her up, snaking into her damp core, running tight, precise circles around her clit.

"You were right," he whispered gruffly, relishing the flavor of her in his mouth, "much better than rum." He resumed his position, his now pulsating prick, as hard as a saber sheathed in a smooth, silky scabbard, pushing urgently into her warm, slick pussy. He knelt amid her parted knees, positioning the plump head of his masculine battering ram on the threshold to her hidden core.

She sighed loudly, lying back in the sand as she arched her back, preparing to take him in, practically pleading with him for it. "You lordship..."

"Joseph," he told her, feeding himself to her slowly, deliberately, bit by glorious bit, "Call me by my name when I'm inside of you, when I'm fucking you." He snuggled into her all the way, his ample breadth gorging her gluttonous hole so tightly. He was as thick as Horatio, thicker really, and though he was shorter, his pego stroked different spots inside of her, placing heavenly pressure upon exact, divine points of her intimate walls.

"Joseph!" she cried, pounding her hips against his as he held himself perfectly still. She was panting, gasping madly as she felt his most exceptional prick fulfill and satiate her every perverse appetite. She brought herself to climax, thrashing about in the sand before he had even made the smallest motion. "Joseph," she gasped for air, feeling the shudders of a phenomenal orgasm rip through her like a burst of colors, sounds and sensations, leaving her squirming and gulping for breath.

"Quite done?" he quirked a haughty and licentious eyebrow. With that, he began moving, driving into her like an animal, brutally plumbing her depths, battering her womb with his passionate and savage dick. Her bottom met his pelvis with every thrust, lifting off the sand in rhythm as his furry scrotum slapped against her buttocks with every ferocious lunge. He braced himself above her, watching the blissful contortions of her face as he viciously occupied her wet cunt. He kissed her tenderly, a pleasing tingling beginning in his tautened testicles, spreading through his belly until that lovely coiling inside his tummy burst and he came, riding on the waves of her second crest, hugging her to him as he pumped his white-hot essence into her in robust surges.

He cradled her against his sweat-glossed chest, exchanging soft sighs and murmurs of endearment, running his fingers through her hair and drinking her kisses. Sand stuck to their heated, perspiring bodies, but they seemed unaware of it. His cock hardened again inside of her and he rode her once more until they both, again, reached for the heights of bliss and soared past it into heaven.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Horatio stood awkwardly at the entrance to the alcove, hidden from Troy and the Earl's view only by a few rustling palms and the pervasive darkness of night. His mouth was a harsh, rigid line and his fingers curled ominously and heatedly around the hilt of the sword at his side. He felt his severe erection struggle against his thigh and breeches, aroused and angered at the sight of the two entwined bodies lolling on the beach. He shot them one last murderous and excited glare before turning and marching away harshly. He passed an inebriated Mr. Eaves, who inquired as to the success of his endeavor to find Captain Alleyn; Horatio ignored him and stalked right by.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Did you love him?" Inquired Edrington, staring up at the stars. It seemed the sky was close enough to touch, the stars nothing more but diamonds ready for him to reach up and pluck them from their velvet indigo tapestry. "Lieutenant Kennedy?"

She was silent for a moment, playing with his large, flat nipple with the tips of her fingers. Finally, she responded with a sigh, "Yes, I suppose I did. Did Horatio tell you?"

"I overheard, pieced it together," he told her. "Do you love him, Horatio?"

This time there was no hesitation when she answered unequivocally, "Yes."

"You know about Maria Hornblower?"

"Yes."

"Did you make love to me to spite him?"

"No."

"Then why? Do you love me too?" There was amusement in his voice.

"I might," she giggled, nestling into him, pinching his nipple teasingly. Then more seriously, "I might. I wanted you. I wanted you; does it matter what that means?" She felt him shake his head slowly. "Are you married?"

"Why?" he laughed. "Are you looking to become Britannia's first piratess countess?"

She chuckled. "Do you love her?"

"My darling little spitfire, it was never about love between us; it was about duty. That's the way it is with us; we can't all be free to roam the seas looking for gold."

"Joseph, do you love me?"

"I want you; does it matter what that means?" He gently kissed her upon the forehead.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun rose like a blazing yellow marble in the azure sky as the long boat made it's way steadily towards The Hotspur, Troy standing proudly at the little bow, Mr. Welles taking the brunt of the rowing. When she came aboard she found that Colonel Edrington and his small crew, including Mr. Tapling who greeted her most boisterously whilst fanning himself with his hankie, had already joined them. Joseph only stared at her, standing at attention with a twinkle of mischief in his dark eyes and on his aristocratic mouth. Mr. Bush looked extremely ill at ease and, when she caught sight of Horatio, she understood why. Anyone could tell the commander was in a foul mood by his dark glower and the tight, thin-lipped set of his mouth. She felt as if his stare was burning holes in her, and when she threw him a tiny frown, his temper seemed only to darken.

"Captain Alleyn," Mr. Tapling greeted with poise, giving her a flourish of his handkerchief and moving his feet as if to bow but finding it too difficult to complete the action in such heat. "Commander Hornblower has good news for us: he tells us that we can make Port Capitola by nightfall! Of course, I will leave the planning and such to you and, ah, our good commander. I must tell you," he said in a lower voice as an aside to Troy, "your ilk most surely know how to celebrate. I still have a bit of a headache but my salts should take care of that before noonday."

"Very good, Mr. T!" she grinned, giving him a right shove upon the back; he looked for a moment as he would heave up right there on the deck.

'A simple headache indeed,' she laughed to herself; he was so hung over she was surprised the man could stand straight. 'Perhaps it was the ship's own rocking motion that kept him on his feet!' "Now, if you'll excuse me, the commander and I have things to discuss." She winked cheekily at Edrington and thought she detected a knowing smirk on his lips as she followed Horatio to his cabin. She knitted her brow as Horatio curtly closed the door behind her and marched to his desk stiffly, taking a seat in uncomfortable little chair, scowling at her snappishly. "Blimey," she snorted, perching herself on the edge of his desk and scrutinizing him as he brusquely stood again and strolled over to the picturesque window, "What crawled up your knickers this morning?"

"Enjoy your...*merriment* last night?" he asked spitefully keeping his back to her as he gripped his fist so tightly behind his back that his knuckles were going white. "I've heard that there was quite a lot to be seen, heard, and glimpsed."

"What *are* you talking about, Horatio?" she sighed impatiently. He was always so damned guarded, so reserved; sometimes she just wanted to shout at him to uncork it, to let it out already! She found herself saying aloud, "No games, Horatio; just come out with it instead of all of this...aloofness. Something is clearly eating at you and, well, it's not me for the moment so simply tell me what is wrong!"

Horatio laughed dryly, cuttingly. "You were never one for courtesies and tact, were you?"

"Nonsense, the lot of it. Bold as brass, that's what my father used to say of me," she sniffed, feeling as if she'd just been put down. Was Maria the pariah so genteel, so well behaved, so docile that Troy, in comparison, seemed such a boar to him? No, she would not allow resentment and envy to come into this. "You never seemed to much mind before."

"Frankness is what you want now? Well then, tell me: were you this frank with Lord Edrington when you were fucking him on the beach?" he inquired callously, turning his dark, tumultuous eyes towards her accusingly.

She could only stare with her mouth hanging agape as the words sunk into her brain. She felt her face grow hot with anger, the color rising with discomfiture, though she had nothing to be ashamed of, even as the hackles rose at the back of her neck. She choked on her answer for a moment, sputtering impotently as if she couldn't decide exactly which come back to use on him. "Bloody, bloody nerve; how dare you! You're one to talk, Commander Hornblower," she finally managed to blurt, gathering herself, standing, straightening herself until she impeccably nearly a foot taller than she was; an imposing presence. Horatio looked perplexed for an instant and Troy pounced upon that. "Don't go looking so innocently at me, Mr. Hornblower, with your sincere eyes and earnest pout," she said hotly. "Is this not the way your modest Maria would behave? Of course not, she's probably far too engaged worshipping your every movement, too meek, obedient."

It was Horatio's turn to look abashed. She could see the fury rising in his rigid demeanor, the rage in his clenched teeth and cruel eyes. "Who told you?" he asked too coolly, too evenly. His fingernails were leaving half-moon marks where they pressed into his palm.

"Does it matter, Horatio?" She was shouting now. "You should have, YOU should have been the one to tell me! You owe me that much! I am yours!"

"I am yours as well!" he raised his voice over hers, seizing her arm in his rough, strong grip and pulling her against his strapping body forcefully. He almost knocked the wind out of her as he shoved her up against the wall, pinning her there with the hard, unyielding press of him. She whimpered as he crushed her breasts against the trim brawn of his chest, feeling the demanding pressure of his heat: his animalistic, masculine scent, his furious groin against the softness of her stomach.

"You were watching, weren't you, you yummy pervert, you," Troy gasped, barely able to breathe from excitement and the hint of danger in her lover's eyes. "You enjoyed it, didn't you?" His cock was growing harder and harder, creating sweet, tantalizing friction against her soft belly. "Were you as rigid as you are now? Did you touch yourself, wring the rum from your throbbing cock with your hand?"

"Watch your mouth," growled Horatio, not able to stop the gentle grinding of his hips against hers. He wanted to be inside her, so deep that no man could ever reach the point in which he thrust his arrow into her soul. He knew he already was.

She laughed huskily. "I'll watch it, my beloved; I'll watch it suck your prick! Does sweet Maria, does your wife do this to you?" she asked silkily as she shimmied down and wedged herself between the wall and his body. Recognizing what she intended to do, he wove his long, lean fingers into her hair and urged to her knees, her mouth tenderly nuzzling the ample tenting at the crotch of his breeches. Her hands snaked through his trouser fastenings, deftly undoing the buttons and sliding her fingers inside the rough fabric. The muscles of his buttocks tensed as she cupped them, gently caressing his sinewy flesh. She wished he could be naked, that she could see the cut of his slender hips, the flat, powerful stomach, his skin like silk under the wiry mat of his pubic fur. As she pulled the material down past his strong thighs, his penis leapt forward, its smooth round head straining at its summit. Grinning wickedly, she licked the shaft all over, her fingers grasping its base as she lapped at the vein-imprinted velvet phallus, consuming his pendulant sac with her hot lips and mouth and feeling the heavy fruits within rolling around her tongue.

He gave her hair a firm tug, forcing her head backwards so he could gave into her eyes as she swallowed him, taking the abundant length and girth. He slid into her throat easily, as if he belonged there, the pulsating bulb of his member snuggling deeply into the tight sheath. There was a savage look of brutality in his eyes; he was wild, animalistic and in control; taking her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as he held it still for the gentle thrust of his pelvis, watching his saliva-coated member slithering betwixt her lips as the rosy petals contracted around him rhythmically. She suckled him, using her tongue to stroke the plunging dick's sensitive underside and fondle his taut testicles.

She felt the wetness spread between her legs, a tingling in her sex, hypersensitivity, as if his cock were penetrating her pussy and not her mouth. She was going to crest; she was going to cum from just the delectable, mouth-watering sensation of his large, engorged prick thrusting into throat. It was a rare occasion, even though she enjoyed the act so very greatly and received such immense pleasure from it, that she achieved her own fulfillment. She began rubbing her crotch enthusiastically through the material of her skirt, feeling the moisture penetrate the fabric.

He tasted cleanly of salt, of masculine spice; he reminded her of the sea heavily fragranced after a storm though his flavor and scent were distinctly manly. With one arm, he braced himself against the wall, gasping and panting in bliss he sought purchase against the polished wood paneling; with the other, he still held her face, watching in fascination and arousal at the expression of bliss that flooded over her as he bucked convulsively. Without warning, she grabbed his lean hips and began groaning, vibrating against his glorious manhood, shaking him until his knees felt as if they would give way any moment.

"Mmmmmmm," she shouted, her mouth full of his pecker as she felt the build-up of warmth, the fire crackers in her belly explode. She came, feeling the prickling of rapture rip through her; her breast felt swollen and tender, her sex erupted in a flow of hot, sticky essence, convulsions wracking her inner walls and clitoris.

Rumbling with ecstasy and heightened gratification, his lunges became violent; feeling her orgasm pound her body like breakers against the soft sand shore sent him to his own. Gritting his teeth and practically roaring, his seed erupted from him, cascading down her throat and filling her mouth. She gulped him down in mouthfuls, sucking and slurping down his aggressive ejaculations until his essence ran from the corners of her mouth, dribbling down her chin.

"You're a wicked, depraved, fiendish woman," he groaned, grinning and affectionately running his hand through her hair. "I should have told you, I wanted to but having you here...I was frightened it would drive you away. Marrying Maria, it was...some would say 'imprudent' act of kindness but there has only ever been one Queen of my Heart." His tone was not remorseful or contrite; he offered no apologizes as he expected none from her for her actions the night before.

"You sentimental fool," she chuckled mischievously, rising onto her haunches, nuzzling his strapping, lean body through layers of clothes, pushing his shirt up with her nose and snuffling at the taut skin it revealed like a piglet. His dick bobbed up and down, still partly stiff and rapidly gaining rigidity once again, the bulbous head gliding against her chin, then her throat where it could feel her hasty breaths. She opened her jacket and slid his rampant penis with its swollen helmet down her chest and down into the split in her blouse, between her petite but firm breasts. She pressed the two mounds of flesh together, moving to rub his cock up and down between them. Horatio threw his head back, letting loose a ferocious snarl. "Does you Maria do this, my dearest?"

His hips moved in time to her ministrations, burying his prick into her décolletage, his engorged head bumping her belly as he thrust all the way down into her shirt, the snug clutch of her titties enfolding him. His throbbing flesh was hot against her skin, moving smoothly from the wetness of her mouth and the cum that still clung to it. She obscured her burning face in his bunched-up shirt, the tense muscle of his chest, muttering his name as he fucked her breasts, becoming almost feral in his desire. He came again, his torrent of liquid passion spilling and surging fervently onto her tummy and breasts, smothering them in it until she dripped with his seed. He staggered backwards, leaning frantically against his desk, clutching at the edge as he panted for breath.

Standing shakily, Troy managed a throaty laugh. She dipped her fingers into her cleavage, smearing his cum into her skin while covering her digits in it. She removed them and placed them in her mouth, sucking the sticky essence from her fingertips as she groaned in appreciation.

"I think you've branded me, 'Ratio," she smiled impishly. "Right over my heart too." Her left nipple peaked through her blouse, dampened by his wet, sultry bliss; she playfully ran a fingernail in a circle around it.

"Mine," he claimed brutally, snatching her hair in his possessive hold, pulling her to him and her head backwards roughly for a probing, commanding kiss. He plundered her mouth, kissing her until she felt she might faint from the intensity of his mouth and lips.

"Always," she gasped as his large hands enveloped her waist and drew her up onto his lap. Instinctively, she wrapped her slim legs around his waist, aiding him in forcing her skirt up until his manhood nestled eagerly at the feverish, flushed flesh of her plump sex. With a look that resembled fury darkening his handsome features, he stabbed into her, sinking in all the way to his roots. He fucked her frantically; hips bucking like a wild stallion in heat as he pumped into her. She caressed his invasive shaft with the walls of her cunny; kneading, milking that distended, inflamed column of manliness like an enthusiastic hand.

Both of them ached with the power and vigor of their indulgence, her silky nectar lubricating the vigorous drive of his devilishly keen battering ram. She came as she felt his hot shot pour into her womb, swelling to fill her belly with his explosions of hot juice. He laid her back on his desk, sucking her still throbbing pussy until he felt her reach her zenith again, oiling his face with her tangy, tasty fluid. He tasted himself within her; she was practically dripping with him. He ate her greedily like she was the finest delicacy, her pussy a banquet laid out in front of a starving man. At the same time, he stroked himself until his passion sap gushed into his hand.

Spent completely, he lay himself down next to her onto the cool, glossy surface of his desk, both mutually exhausted and contented. He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it lovingly. For minutes, the only sound in the cabin was that of their heavy panting. Finally, Horatio laughed. "Now, what has it we were supposed to be discussing again?" his brow furrowed as he heedlessly scratched his balls.

Troy joined in on his mirth. "You expect me to remember anything after the rogering you just gave me?!" she chuckled. "I'm lucky to have escaped with my life!"

"Ah yes," he said, clearing his throat and adopting a more authoritative and firm bearing. He rested his head on his arm, letting Troy curl up against his side and snuggle into him. "The... _penetration_ of Port Capitola. An English colony, good established trade; I see no reason why we would not be greeted openly..."

"Ah, yes, about that..." Troy bit her lip a bit uneasily. "It won't be as simple as just walking in there, getting the information we need and walking out again. There was...a *sconce* of trouble some time ago involving myself and the Governor's son..." Horatio groaned, running his hand over his face in dismay, letting his fingers catch upon his luscious lips. "You can't go in there without me, you wouldn't know what you were looking for, nor do I think you lack the ethics to take it..."

"So, the only way is to get you in without being recognized," reasoned Horatio. A naughty smile played across his luscious lips. "I think I have an idea, but you are not going to like it."


	6. Chapter 6

Horatio tapped his foot impatiently for the thousandth time, crossing his arms across his chest and letting loose an irritated sigh. She'd been back behind that bit of fabric from almost an hour now; it couldn't take that long.

"Are you nearly done?" he asked with a hint of annoyance to his prickly tone. He could see her silhouette moving seductively, wrestling with her garments; just the mere shadow of her naked body had made his cock hard as the mainmast.

"Don't get you knickers in a twist," Troy called, her voice sounding slightly amused by Horatio's exasperation. "It takes a while, you know! It's difficult to do anything when you carn't fucking breathe! Damned braces!" Smiling, she stepped out from in back of the make-shift dressing screen, casually draping one arm against the canvas partition and throwing open her fan with the other.

Horatio could barely believe his eyes: there she stood, draped in the silk of a delicately flowered frock, her hair tied up in a perfect chignon with only one loose lock curling softly against the left side of her slender neck. Her head was adorned with a fashionable straw hat, tied at her chin with a pale blue chiffon ribbon, her hands covered with dainty lace gloves. A subtle cream-colored ruffle ran the length of her neckline, accentuating the slim curves of her shoulders and bolstering the small swell of her bosom, rising rapidly with her struggling inhalation. He was gazing at her ardently, drinking it her refined, striking if not overly beautiful handsomeness.

"Speechlessness," she said playfully. "That has to be a good sign. I must say, this isn't an absolutely terrible plan, as plans go. Better if I could breathe," she sniffed, tugging at her corset beneath her frock. She glanced down at her bust and laughed, poking at the rosy mounds of flesh, then cupping them. "Look, 'Ratio, I've got tits!"

He chuckled. "Yes, you made me aware of that fact some time ago though I must say the effects of the dress are...are...are most notable indeed." He was blushing; his cheeks were not the only place that blood was rushing to at the moment. Troy had to admit she was rather bewildered with catching him so off his guard; she knew she wasn't pretty like other girls and she was used to leading by intimidation. She supposed this was a form of coercion in of itself. 'Men' she thought, 'ruled by their pricks.'

A knock sounded upon the cabin door and Mr. Bush entered tentatively, saluting and, upon seeing Troy's almost lady-like appearance, removing his hat instinctively. "Everything is ready, sir, er," he fumbled on his words when his eyes rested on the demure Troy, "madam. If you'll follow me..."

"Cleans up well, does she not?" Edrington smirked, licking his lips as he fixed his eyes on Troy's figure. He grasped her a little harder than was necessary as he helped her into the long boat, his hands roaming areas of her body that polite folk would consider to be ill mannered. She seemed to be tripping over her hem every three steps, cursing everything from her elegant shoes to the stays that uncomfortably squashed her ribs and tummy; he took advantage of one such stumble to take her in his arms and press her against his chest. The wool of his jacket tickled her nose. Horatio shot him a murderous stare but gave him a begrudging grin. He got the feeling he was saved from the sting of the back of her hand only because she enjoyed Horatio's reaction almost as much as he.

Cutting through the gentle, restful azure tide like scissors through rippling silk, the long boat made its way towards the bustling colony harbor of Port Capitola, the city's prim tiled rooftops gleaming in the noonday sun. They had sent Mr. Orrock ahead so that the Governor, Samuel Greyvorn, would be aware of their arrival and there he stood now at the docks with a welcoming party of three or four redcoats. This was Mr. Tapling's ground; the pudgy, rotund man smiling smoothly as they moored at the wharf and disembarked, greeting Governor Greyvorn with all the compulsory formalities and charming small talk.

"...Not at all," laughed Greyvorn, clapping Tapling on the back and turning to the plump ambassador's companions. "And who might these charming individuals be?"

"Ah, yes," Tapling beamed. "May I present my delightful niece, Miss Cash," he indicated Troy, who gave the governor a coy curtsey, trying to obscure as much of her face from him as possible while batting her eyelashes coquettishly. "Her fiancé, Commander Matthew Christensen." It had been decided that this was the name that Horatio would go by if, by unlucky happenstance, Greyvorn had heard of Hornblower and his derring-do; in a colony as small as this was, news of his trial in Jamaica had probably been discussed for months. "And our escort, Colonel Joseph Edrington. I thought you might be able to give them a wee tour of your lovely township."

"I would be delighted," Greyvorn smiled widely, twisting his tall, slender frame in what looked as if it had been intended to be an graceful bow; he looked like a scarecrow bending in the wind.

The port seemed far too tidy and sanitary with its lack of doxies and general ne'er-do-wells, in Troy's opinion. They were probably all locked up in the city jail, a last minute measure taken by Greyvorn when he learned of their arrival from Orrock. That would make it slightly more difficult to find who Troy intended to search out as she herself would probably behind the iron bars of the local prison, but if all went well...

"You're enjoying this far too much," she scowled at Horatio, who had a wisp of a smirk upon his lips.

"Can you blame him?" Edrington asked, leaning in so close she could feel his hot breath blow the curl at the side of her throat. A glower sprang to Horatio's features, making her grin, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. As gracefully as she could muster, she "accidentally" kicked the heel of her slipper into the Colonel's shin. It was Horatio's turn to be amused.

All the mirth left them as they passed a massive and hastily constructed gallows, erected at the harbor but close enough to the community to be seen from the town square. At least thirty bodies dangled by the noose, mostly men but some women, in various stages of decay; the smell of putrefying flesh turned even Troy's stomach as she put on lace concealed hand over her nose and mouth.

"A little...party we had," Greyvorn explained with morbid pride and a flourish of his elegantly clad arm as they paused before the gruesome display. "We like the pirates to know what they're in for before they try anything here in Port Capitola." He put his finger to the side of his nose and winked, making Troy's heart pound in her chest. Few things were unspeakable enough to frighten her; a pirate stretched by the neck with such callous disregard was one of them.

"Buccaneers," Troy told Edrington and Horatio in a shaken undertone, correcting Greyvorn's use of the title 'pirate', "they pull off land raids in these parts. Probably thought this would be a nice fat pillage and plunder; minimal guard, soft colonists. Some may be pirates that they smoked out of the brothels, maybe even some of the whores they were caught with. There are men what deserve to be hung like that, some of 'em might be dangling up there now. I find that men seem to be rather haphazard in their distinction. You see the need for this here charade now?"

"And exactly what does all of that have to do with Governor Greyvorn's son?" Horatio asked quite wickedly, arching a dark eyebrow.

"Oooooh," Troy glared, narrowing her eyes and making sure to snap her fan in Horatio's direction. "He chooses now to be funny! And just you watch yourself, Lord Cheeky," she warned Edrington who pulled his most convincing innocent face.

Mr. Tapling eyed them cautiously, an indication to begin practicing discretion. "Are you feeling quite well, niece?" he asked, setting their plan into motion. "You are looking a bit peaked and I do so worry about you, my poor little dear." To Greyvorn, he said, "Unused to the heat, the sweet thing is, and to the brutality of the colonies. Such a delicate constitution, the fragile lamb has."

Troy bit her tongue and managed a dainty smile, fluttering her fan furiously as she put a hand to her reddened forehead. She'd put even Kitty Cobham to shame, Horatio thought with an inward chuckle. "I'll be alright, uncle," she said lightly, leaning upon Horatio's strong, slender arm as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. She gave a weak smile of reassurance, patting her "uncle" on the hand. "I've seen enough of the decks and the cabins aboard Mr. Christensen's vessel. I wish now to see civilization again!"

"And you will indeed, Miss Cash," Greyvorn assured her boastfully. "Port Capitola is the height of English society here in the colonies!" Everywhere she looked, Troy saw nothing but the untamed tropics masquerading as Britannic civilization, the devilish ingenuity of the untamed islands creeping through Greyvorn's so-called genteel society. She had to smile to herself; no matter how much they tried to suppress it, it always came up through the cracks, a weed to the refined colonials, a fascination to her.

She never suspected that Greyvorn would lead them so close to their destination: the jail. But his arrogance and conceit got the better of him and so he led them straight to it for them to witness, if the macabre demonstration by the docks was not example enough, the strength of the township over its enemies. They stepped into the small, brick building; instantly, they were assaulted by the smell of filth and the staggering heat. It was the perfect opportunity and, by Edrington and Horatio's urgent glares, they knew it too.

"Oooh," she cried out meekly, fanning herself faster and faster. She fluttered her eyelids as she exclaimed once more, "Oooh, I do not feel at all well!" And with that, she swooned; Edrington had scarcely ever beheld such a performance, even in the theaters of Drury Lane. She tipped her toes upwards, rocking back upon her heels and smoothly fainting into the Earl's arms.

"It must have been too much for her, my dainty little pet," Horatio said stiffly, mustering as much melodrama as he could, kneeling beside his "fiancé" and patting her gloved hand comfortingly. "Colonel Edrington, do be so kind as to escort my beloved back to my ship, and do make sure the poor thing is well taken care of." Horatio spoke his last words gruffly, "I trust she will be in good hands."

Edrington smirked deviously. "Of course, Commander Christensen."

"Are you sure we should just leave..." Greyvorn hesitated.

"Oh yes, do not fear for my niece," Mr. Tapling said quickly. "She has Tapling in her, after all! Now, Governor, you were telling us of the criminal reform program you've devised..." he prompted and the immodest man couldn't refrain from launching straight back into his boring monologue on the subject, slowly leading them away from Edrington and Troy.

"That was some show," Edrington laughed once the party had moved far enough away from them; Troy was convinced they had left the structure by some back door or connected entrance to another building. "A fine piece of acting; have you considered a change in career."

"Bugger acting!" she spat out, struggling to her feet with the help of the Colonel's mischievous hands. "I can barely breathe in this fucking thing! How do women do it? Now to find what we're looking for."

She would have stood out in a crowd of thousands, decided Troy as she spotted the woman they had come here for at the back of one of the stone walled cells, due in large part to the fact that she'd used far too much henna dye to make her hair a flaming red mass of curls. Scarlet, they called her, and for very good reason as not only was her hair the color of fire, but she wore a provocatively low-cut vermilion frock and crimson cosmetics, a shocking contrast to her pale, freckled skin.

"Psst, you, Red!" Troy hissed through her teeth, gesturing to the woman.

"Fuck you, you dolled up little tart," Scarlet replied, obviously mistaking her for one of the gentry. "You suppose you're better than me just because you wave your fan with such refinement and..."

"Shuddup, will ye?!" Troy snapped, examining the steel lock, turning it over her hands. "We've use of you and you'll come along with us or I'll slit ye throat to keep you quiet, whore. Colonel," she said, standing aside and signaling towards the rusted metal catch; bless this whore of an island, thought Troy, and her humid weather. Metal never did do well in such wetly saline a climate. Edrington drew his pistol and shot the lock clean from the bars; the door creaked open.

"I know you," Scarlet scoffed, trying to behave casually as she suspiciously edged her way towards them and out of the cell. "Well, well, if it isn't Cap'n Troy Alleyn, the face that sank a thousand ships! This is a cozy little act you've set up here, wha..." Troy put an end to the woman's snide speech by putting the tip of her dagger to Red's throat. "What do you want with me?" she inquired flatly, her overconfidence retreating.

"I think it's time we talked about Captain Jack Knightly, don't you?" Troy grinned as the woman's eyes grew larger. "Come, your Lordship, let's get her back to Hotspur before anyone notices what we've done."


	7. Chapter 7

"So let me get this straight," Bush took a deep, calming breath. Red sat obstinately upon Horatio's desk, her back turned to them with her arms crossed tightly across her ample chest, her blunt, pretty nose turned up in the air, her chin firmly set. She wasn't speaking with any of them, which was just fine for all present at the moment. "This," he indicated, the tarted-up woman, "is Jack Knightly's whore." She tutted loudly at the term. "You made sure to let word of our capture of her make its way to Zechariah Swann, whom you don't trust and believe to be in league with Knightly!"

"I did," confirmed Troy.

"She is then, essentially, bait," Edrington concluded, arching an elegant eyebrow. The plan wasn't half bad, he had to admit; he was sure many men, including Bush, would have trouble taking orders from a woman but, in truth, she was one of the most competent, if somewhat crooked, leaders he had ever met. "And so we wait for Knightly to come to us..."

"Too late, he's already here," Troy replied matter-of-factly. "His ship is moored on the other side of the island and Greyvorn's in league with him." They both stared at her as if she were mad. "Look, it only makes sense!"

"I don't see how it makes any sense at all!" Bush said almost despairingly.

"Last I noticed," observed the Earl, " Greyvorn was none too keen on those of your profession."

"Honestly," Troy sighed exaggeratedly, "you two would make absolutely horrendous pirates! Any government official out here has a price; Knightly obviously met Greyvorn's, despite the governor's boasting and bravado. What more noble a cause than to take up the fight against pirates, buccaneers and scoundrels? Save for the fact that Greyvorn isn't just killing the villains; I spotted the Jack, the colors of the Empire, used as a sash upon one of the corpses. My guess being that he was a privateer, servant to the crown, for what that's worth out in this Gawd forsaken part of the world. He's getting Jack's competitors and adversaries out of the way, so's the way I look at it. 'Sides, he was emptying out the jail so that none of them scallywags accosted Miss Red here; she wasn't imprisoned, she was being protected."

"Little good it did me," Scarlet snorted, giving one of her gaudy ringlets a firm and aggravated tug. In the soft light of the cabin, far from the bleaching affect of the sun, Edrington could see just how spent the woman looked; she was most likely only in her latter twenties and yet the caking of make-up could not even hide the wrinkles, the hard lines across her forehead, around her eyes. He'd learn to pity her if she wasn't so demmed ornery!

"May I ask," his Lordship said, taking this all in stride rather quickly. He was a clever one, the Earl of Edrington; like Horatio, that's what Troy admired about him. She nodded for him to continue. "How exactly is it that you came about all this information? Surely it was not by deductive powers alone."

"Indeed not!" she laughed; the cheeky sod! "I told you I had my spies, did I not? Surely you remember dear Mr. Albus Eaves, journalist extra ordinaire?"

"The fat, drunken git?" Edrington smirked, quirking an elegant eyebrow. "The one singing about a girl named Fanny taking her pleasure in his Majesty's Navy upon the beach the night before last?!"

"That would be him," Troy chuckled. "And what better cover could a man ask for than being a tosspot and a fool?"

Edrington moved closer to her, his body heat radiating from him like waves from the tropical sun. He had a mischievous slant to his mouth, a wicked glint in his black coffee eyes. He took her chin in his hand and turned her face to his, staring deeply into her gold-rimmed eyes, his glare gently glancing over the flattering effects of the bust-line of her frock. "Oh, very clever, Miss Alleyn. No simpleton are you." Bush felt suddenly uncomfortable as the sexual tension in the room hit an apex; he could almost taste the sweat-slickened promise of pleasure between them. Thankfully, it was then that Horatio chose to make his entrance, removing his hat as he closed the door to his cabin behind himself.

"Gentlemen," he said, inclining his head to them slightly; he only quirked a smile when his gaze fell upon Troy. "If you'll excuse us."

"Shall I see to the...uh," Bush's words dropped off as he gestured towards Red.

"No need, Mr. Bush," Horatio waved him away. "She shall be quite safe under our care." That wasn't exactly what the first lieutenant was wary of. He nodded reluctantly to his commander, throwing one last cautious glower at Scarlet and exited, followed shortly by Colonel Edrington, who gave Horatio a smug little smile, exchanged his goodbyes with the man and left.

"Thank Gawd!" Troy breathed a sigh of relief. "Now cut me out of this demmed thing, will you!" she demanded, pulling at the stays beneath her lovely gown. "I'd like to breathe again, thank you very much," she snapped, scowling off of Horatio's bemused look. "Honestly, how do women stand these things?!"

"Do stop your fussing," he laughed, gripping the skirt of her dress and tugging the soft fabric up over her head. She then went about hurriedly trying to undo the laces of her corset, cursing like a sailor all the while. Horatio was watching her hotly, the slender body beneath the thin gossamer of her shift. The dusky shadows of her nipples stood at perfect attention after being abraded against her chemy as her frock was removed. He noticed in dismay that Scarlet was watching him and turned his stare towards her, giving a curt bow. "Is there some way in which I can help you, madam?"

She was grinning; she would have had a pretty mouth if it hadn't been smeared rouge upon her pouty lips. It was plump, luscious mouth; ready for kisses. Horatio thought of whom those kisses belonged to and shuddered.

"It's just that I get it now a' right," she explained with a crooked smile. "You two are screwing each other silly! Tell me," she sneered nastily, "is she any good? She's small; is she nice and tight?" She eyed his crotch. "It looks to me like you've got a lot there to satisfy."

"Shut yer disgusting mouth," Troy warned, finally liberated from her cloth imprisonment, pulling her blouse on over her head and stuffing it into a pair of Horatio's breeches, "or I'll shut it for yer, ye appalling wench! He's never had it better than me, never will."

Horatio suppressed a smile, outwardly retaining his stern air dignity that let Red know that a retort would be so far beneath him that he was not even bothering to think on one. Still, his manhood felt heavy in the left leg of his trousers at the mere thought of having Troy. She had been flirting with Edrington when he had walked in; he wasn't blind nor was he jealous as he knew where Troy's true heart lay: in the palm of his hand, at the tip of the engorged head of his cock and deep within his thudding organ. Never and never will, he thought, gazing at her intensely and affectionately.

"Yeah, s' at so?" Red chuckled wickedly, sliding off her perch upon the polished oaken surface of his desk. "She kiss as good as this?" She sidled up to him seductively, feeling his body go rigid as she drew closer, his back as inflexible and unyielding as the surface of his desk as she pressed her plush bosom into his chest. She was close to his height, about half a head shorter; the easier for her to run her tongue teasingly along his succulent lips before pressing her mouth to his in a hot, fervent embrace. His hand instinctively clutched her curved waist, her fingers brushing the nape of his neck, playing with the chestnut curls of his queue as her tongue ravaged his moist velvet grotto, dancing against his own rough muscle. She broke away finally, her face as reddened as her hair, lips passion swollen; she heaved breath into her lungs as if she had swam her way to The Hotspur from Port Capitola. "Wow, that was--"

"Nothing," Troy mocked and derided, clutching a fistful of Scarlet's vulgar and garish bright red curls, wrenching her from Horatio and against her own body. "This," she laughed piercingly, "is a real kiss." She shoved Red's face against hers, her adamant tongue easily parting her crimson lips: sucking, plundering her until the taller woman went weak in the knee. Troy pulled away too soon, Red's mouth still puckered to receive her delicious pillage. The whore staggered backwards, bracing herself against the desk as she panted, wanting to moan for more.

Beholding such a spectacle had made Horatio's column of male flesh spring to full awareness, creating a definite outline against his white breeches. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his dark furrowed brow.

"Looks like you man craves a kiss of another kind, my sweet," Scarlet laughed harshly, still licking her bruised lips.

"Troy, don't..." Horatio's order turned to a soft catch of breath as she slithered down his body, the shamelessly impish gleam in her eyes fascinating and mesmerizing him as she got to her knees before the alter of his masculinity. He eyed Scarlet carefully as he said, "This is hardly the time nor the place..."

His protest turned into a mannish growl as Troy slid her fingers into the fastenings of his trousers and undid them nimbly, nuzzling her nose and mouth into the thick fur of his pubic mound as she pulled him free of the heavy wool fabric. His cockstand was as firm as the stamen of one of those delightfully suggestive tropical flowers Mr. Bush had so admired. He was like marble in her hand, smooth, heavy and etched with veins. He wasn't cool stone though but throbbing hot flesh and blood, pounding as she drew her fingers up and down its massive length, rolling her thumb against the seam's end at the base of his swollen bulb. She loved the feel of him, the impression that he was in control even as she held in her hand his most precious organ, the smell of him, the potent manful aroma of spice and sweat. But it was the taste of him she craved most.

"Kiss me, Amy," he murmured, slowly drawing his hips in deliberate motion so that his cock dragged along her tight grip, "kiss me, my beloved."

She was only too happy to comply, smiling up at her heart's true love as she licked the salty drops that wept from the jutting, bulging helmet as her fingers toyed gently with the strangely cool, soft and delicate sac that would soon produce torrents his seed. She opened her mouth, ready to receive him, and went down, sliding him in, all the way in, swallowing him so that he slid down her throat. He groaned, tangling lean fingers in her wispy golden brown hair, watching as the strands slipped through his digits like threads of silk. Their eyes locked as she suckled him, drawing the length of him out to the head and taking him back into the tight clasp of her mouth and throat. Horatio began thrusting, setting an easy, steady rhythm, wanting to last as long as he possibly could, this delectable torture to go on forever. She constricted her lips around him in luscious kisses, her tongue slurping at the tender underside of his rampant prick.

She loved how he filled her, penetrating her this way. She roughly shoved her arm down the waistband of her breeches, parting the folds of her cunny without hesitation and driving her fingers into her core. She pumped herself to Horatio's tempo, scowling as he thwarted any attempts by her to go faster. Bliss was flooding them both at a rapid rate, filling their bellies with a winding coil of rope, ready to snap back, and their limbs with a tingling sort laziness. Moisture filled Troy's hand as she climaxed, moaning as her inner muscles gripped her hand. Horatio followed, a shiver running down his spine like firecrackers being set of, launching a current of his sticky eruptions of his essence.

Troy rocked back for a minute, swaying with rapture until she fell back onto her bottom, wiping his spilt cum from her chin with the back of her sleeve, a ridiculous grin on her face as she watched Horatio struggle to compose himself, tucking his still rather rigid staff back into his pants and hastily doing up the buttons. With a jolt, the both of them seemed to remember concurrently that they were not alone; two sets of eyes flew to Red at the same instant. She was watching them, her face burning a passionate crimson to match her hair and frock. Her skirt was pulled high up upon her thigh, her bodice down around her breast; it was obvious that she had participated in self-gratification while watching them.

"You two," she told them with a slight pant, "are truly un-fucking-believable. I can think of worse places to be held as bait," she smiled sweetly. "You're looking for the island, you can't fool me with your pretensions; 'Crown and Country' and all that! Make no mistake: Jack will rescue me."

"Don't delude yourself," Troy snorted, "he'd see you dead for collaborating with enemies before he'd take a second look at you." Sadly, Red's haughty demeanor seemed to falter for a moment, as if she knew what troy told her was true.

Horatio had moved towards the door and beckoned for the marine standing guard. "Please show Miss, er...Red to appropriate quarters if you will, Mr. Sparrow. And notify the officer of the watch, I am retiring and do not wish to be disturbed."


	8. Chapter 8

"Mmmmmm," Troy smiled, biting her lips coyly as she shuffled onto the commander's sparse bunk on her hands and knees, her rump high in the air, tempting an inflamed Horatio. "I love this, I love it here. It smells of you." She nestled her face into his pillow and inhaled deeply. "Like sweat and maleness and cum," she licked her lips suggestively as she spoke the last word, keeping his smoldering gaze steady with her own shameless and depraved stare. She didn't see the first blow coming and shouted out in surprise as his hand connected with her bottom. She tried to call out angrily but found herself being pushed down into the bedding as his hand undid the pins that kept the rather large breeches she wore from falling down and slide them to her knees where they gathered in a pool of linen. "Bastard!" Her cry of injustice was muffled by the thin bedspread and sparse mattress. He smacked her bare buttocks again and again, making each cheek glow with a rosy flush.

His clever fingers, long and slender, slid along the crack of her bottom, starting at the cleft where her back met her lean hindquarters down into the downy nest of brown curls that adorned her womanhood while pressing down hard with the other hand against her shoulders, keeping her front half lowered against the tick. He thrust two fingers in, hard, fast, pumping her as oceans of her juice oiled his greedy hand. She cried out, moving like a cat to his ministrations, rubbing her fanny against him seductively.

He removed his naughty digits and sucked the shiny nectar from them even as he shucked his coat and waistcoat. His feet skillfully worked his shoes and then stockings off. Grinning sinfully, the Devil's own gleam within his chocolate eyes, he removed his neckerchief and moved Troy's randily pliant body, tying her wrists together with the cloth and binding them to the plain headboard. She giggled, wriggling her bottom, ready for another round of discipline as she watched him remove the rest of his clothing, watched those sensuous muscles ripple like water, like silk beneath his perfectly tanned, lean fleshy exterior. His cock sprang to life, speaking of the yearning he felt, his insatiable hunger. He was a very young man with a beloved toy, denied him so many years, all his with which to play.

He bent and crouched onto the bunk which never fit his lanky frame properly, and she spread her thighs wide for him as he settled between them. "You want to fuck that little doxie, don't you?" he asked huskily, pushing his large nose into her buttocks' crevice as his fat, lengthy tongue plunged bravely onwards into the folds of her pussy. She wept a moan, positioning her hips to make her more accessible to his voracious mouth. He plumbed her depths, slurping up her syrupy drink, lapping at her sensitive rolls of flesh like a covetous kitten. Grasping her thighs, he could feel her tremble, feel her impending climax as he ravaged her.

As the shudders of her tidal waves of rapture undulated like the sea throughout her, Horatio straddled her, replacing his mouth with his rampant prick. "You wanted her to lick your cunny," he rumbled, pummeling her with all of his strength, riding her hard. He ran his tongue against his own lips, tasting her briny slipperiness. "Your delicious little cunny. But only I can go where your bliss lies, only I can penetrate your heart with my cock. Say it!" he demanded, giving her round rump another playful thwack.

"Only you, 'Ratio. Ever," she swore to him in earnest, panting wildly as she felt his large manhood thrust deep into her belly, withdrawing to its bulging cap and again forcing its way inwards, piercing the very core of her. "I am terribly, terribly wicked; I wanted her to fuck me. Punish me no more, kind sir!" she mewled teasingly.

"I cannot bespeak penitence from you," he said, seriousness clouding his already stormy eyes, "for I myself have only to beg your forgiveness." His rhythm slowed, and he gently rested his head between her shoulder blades, kissing the sweat-glistened naked skin reverently. "Maria deserves better than I for I cannot hold any love for her when my heart is so full of you, Amy. She is a good woman; I married her out of kindness but, in fact, I think it was rather an act of cruelty."

"Will you have me pity her?" she asked, moving with him, letting her orgasm simmer. "She loves you and, from what I hear, she is content with that. I possess what she will never even know she cannot have; for that I pity her." He smiled and gently kissed her lips, nibbling upon the bottom petal, savoring it slowly. "Love's a funny thing, ain't it?" she mused.

"Funny isn't exactly the word I'd use," he grinned, looking like a mischievous angel; he was a sculpture, a painting of male beauty, though he hardly seemed to notice. His eyes had a lewd, lascivious glint, those solemn pools of warm coffee that disguised himself as his eyes; she quivered in anticipation for she truly had no idea that he meant to do what he did next. Withdrawing from her sex, he spread her blushing cheeks and, coated with the slick secretions of her desire, he pushed himself into her arse.

The pleasant, exotic sensation wasn't entirely foreign to Troy, though few men had dared try it with her and even fewer had succeeded in performing the ancient act of domination. She relaxed her muscles, loosening her slight brawn as to make the position more delightful. Horatio's thrusts were slow, deliberate, for his skill had rarely been tested in this posture and he was at first frightened of doing her an injury. Her tiny moans let him know that she was enjoying herself as much as he and his pushes forward gained tempo. "OH!" she cried out her delectation, balling the coverlet in her tight fists. She echoed Horatio's own gratification as he felt that all too wonderful tautness and tingling in his testicles; he drew out of her bum and entered her pussy again, hammering into her until they both quickly reached the apex.

Untying her wrists, Horatio settled onto the mattress beside her, placing one arm behind his head while the other draped leisurely over the sweat-dampened sinew of his sculpted chest. He lungs were heaving for air and a smile touched his full, sensuous lips. They lay there for sometime, basking in that lethargy that was often the aftermath of intense bliss. At last, Horatio spoke, "What island?"

"Mmmmmm?" Troy asked, only half paying attention as she slowly suckled one of his dusky flat nipples.

"The island that wench spoke of, Jack Knightly's island," clarified Horatio. "What was she speaking of?"

Troy groaned angrily at herself for letting herself think that that had slipped by him; she grabbed a pillow and covered her face with it, wanting to scream into it to vent her frustration. "I should have figured you'd be clever enough to pick up on that," she sighed in resignation as Horatio pulled the pillow away. "It's silly really; pirate talk! I would have thought that Commander Horatio Hornblower wouldn't have time for folk tales and legends." She chuckled a little and kissed his lips but his stern and steady gaze demanded satisfaction. What was wrong with the man?! Didn't he know she'd already surrendered all she was to him?! And now he wanted to know this... this tiny, unimportant little story? "Oh, all right," she sighed and she continued in a very fast and matter-of-fact tone, "there's rumored to be an island on which Black Jack keeps all of his plundered swag and to which only the man himself knows the way. Happy now?"

"You don't really believe that tall tale, do you?" Horatio laughed.

"I've seen stranger things," Troy said indignantly.

"Do you reckon that's what Greyvorn is after?" inquired Horatio.

"Dunno," she replied.

"Perhaps his son then?" Horatio said teasingly.

"If you refer, sir," she said crisply, "to the ripe young lad whose company I happened to share for one night, do not look to Greyvorn; a man named Steadfast was governor when I last visited Port Capitola. And I must say, his offspring did live up to the family name."

"Greyvorn wasn't governor the last time you were in Port Capitols?" Horatio frowned, his dark brow furrowing in contemplation. "How is it then that he near recognized you."

"From my wanted poster, I suppose," she theorized with a shrug, playing with one soft, curling strands of his chestnut hair. "Did you see it, 'Ratio?" she pouted resentfully. "A wanted poster, for *me*, a servant of the crown! It's outrageous! Though, I must say," she resumed thoughtfully, "I bet not even my father ever demanded five-hundred gold marks!"

Horatio laughed, drawing her to him and kissing her deeply, passionately, cupping her jaw in his large hand. Morning would come soon enough; the night was for lovers. Something kept nagging at the back of his mind. "Strange, though," he commented, knitting his brow thoughtfully."

She looked down between her legs where his hand was now situated, his deliciously elongate fingers probing her moist sheath. "I suppose I don't have a whole lot of reference, 'Ratio, but I always thought it normal..."

"No," Horatio chuckled, "no, not that. Greyvorn's tooth."

"What of it?" she frowned.

"Did you not see it?"

She sighed, moving against his hand in a sensuously rhythmic dance. "Mmm, 'Ratio, if you didn't notice, I was trying to *avoid* looking into his face. I may be worth every gold mark placed upon my head, that doesn't mean I'll be cashing myself in anytime soon. Though there was something nigglingly familiar in his manner..."

"He had the most remarkable gold tooth I've ever seen in my life," Horatio said, finally letting her in on his thoughts. She seemed extraordinarily disturbed upon hearing this revelation and asked him to repeat himself, then to show him exactly where the tooth was. Before he knew what was happening, she was climbing out of the bunk and hastily replacing her clothes. "What is it?" he inquired, concern darkening his features.

She kissed him quickly and told him, "Expect trouble." She hurried out.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dawn was just beginning to reach its rosy fingers across the still water when Troy emerged from Horatio's cabins in a rush; it seemed something was wearing heavily on her mind. She blushed a bit to find Mr. Bush waiting for her; he seemed equally abashed as she shuffled his feet and cleared his throat loudly. "Captain Alleyn," he said, straightening, "a missive arrived for you from your own ship, The Elizabeth Alleyn, in Mr. Tapling's own hand. He requests your presence immediately." He handed her the piece of parchment.

Odd, thought Troy, turning the paper over in her hands. "Very well," she told him, "I was to ask you for a vessel immediately anyway. Do me the favor of readying a boat, if you please, Mr. Bush."

He saluted her with a firm tug of the brim of his hat, then hesitated for a moment. "I believe I owe both you and Commander Hornblower my heartfelt apologies regarding his situation..."

She gently put her fingers against his lips, stopping his words. She understood; there was no need for explanations. "Don't," she said tenderly. She leaned forward and kissed him, so fond a kiss he had rarely known; it made is knees weak and other parts of his anatomy quite the opposite. "Thank you, Mr. Bush," she said, her cheeks flushed with the most tempting hint of sexual pleasure. "Now, the boat. There is something of an urgency and if my suspicions are correct..."

"As you wish, madam," he smiled.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She took the ladder two rope rungs at a time, whistling boisterously as she lifted herself up over the railing easily in Horatio's trousers. She waved to the marines that had rowed the long boat over to her own vessel and they departed. She hesitated, realizing that none of the lanterns had been lit on the deck. Her tune slowly halted. She could see two figures standing in the pre-dayspring light; one burly, strapping, while the other was somewhat more squat, rounded.

"Mr. Welles?" she asked hesitantly, "Mr. Tapling?"

The bigger of the two figures lurched forward and she could see the blood pooling around his head on the rough-hewn wood. It was then she realized the second figure was struggling, as if against bindings. She had no time to scream, the cold steel of the blade was against her throat before she could even make a sound.

"Well, well," Greyvorn, or should she say Captain Jack Knightly, grinned maliciously, showing his gleaming golden tooth "what have I caught here?"


	9. Chapter 9

Bloody, bloody typical! Troy gritted her teeth, rolling her eyes to the heavens. Well, in actuality, she was gazing up at the wooden beams of the ceiling in the brig. Forgetting for the tenth time that she was tied to a supporting beam, she moved her head back too swiftly, hitting it against the hard wood. She let loose a stream of curses that would make even the saltiest of dogs blush had they heard her verbal rampage; as it were, only their jailer heard and he chuckled ominously. Swann, she grimaced at the grinning young man who swung the keys to the chains that held her and Mr. Tapling by the wrist and to each other. Why was it that whenever she met up with Horatio, she ended up beaten bruised and tied up in the keep?!

"I swear," Tapling told her, dejected and deflated, "I had no idea. Oh!" he cried in despair, only adding to Swann's amusement, "We shared supper! Bad cut of veal; it's so remarkable how easy it is to mistake the good for the bad put if you know your prime...But I told him all I could of our plight and, oh!, he seemed so sympathetic! The man despised pirates, that's what I thought at least; I didn't know he bloody was one!"

Troy was barely listening; her mind spun and lurched, playing through all escape scenarios she thought might work and, in desperation, some she knew would not. It seemed absolutely hopeless until a pudgy little man rolled down the ladder and spoke softly to Swann. Mr. Eaves avoided her vicious glare, fumbling with the edge of his new brocade frock coat, rolling it between chubby fingers, as he conferred with Zechariah. Bloody stupid bastard; he'd pay for this betrayal.

"He is no captain here," Troy said venomously. "Imprisoned or no, this is still my vessel. Did he promise you command of The Elizabeth? Did he promise me to you? You'll get neither, you sniveling little prick. I used to think I saw something of Dawg in you; I used to almost even admire it. But you're a poor shadow of your father, a crawling little coward..." He silenced any further words with a swift strike of the back of his hand across her jaw.

"Now, now, young Swann," came that chilling, swaggering voice. It was so smooth, so suave that, though she cursed herself for being taken in by him, she understood how it had happened. "Is that how you treat your Auntie Troy?" She tried to recoil as Knightly reached forward and wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth, but he held her head firmly in place so she could not back away from him. In retaliation, she bit his finger. Hard. "Bitch," he howled, pulling his fingers away.

"My bite is worse than my bark," she smiled scornfully, earning her a rough kick to the back of her knees that almost made her crumble. Almost; she stood proudly, facing him. She had no intention of letting him see any weakness. She shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the manacle around her wrist that connected her to Mr. Tapling; she silently cursed herself for having kept such objects aboard though she knew that Knightly probably had them in ample supply back aboard the Black Jack.

On the horizon, she could see it; moored to a small, remote island with nothing but azure water as far as the eye could see was the infamous ship. Its black sails billowed in the wind, the dark wood making it as a shadow of a menace against the clear blue water. The figurehead, the form of a contemptuous woman holding a fanned deck of cards in one hand a dagger in the other, stood defiantly against the placid waves.

"Admiring the view, Miss Alleyn?" Jack laughed; Troy bristled at the failure to use her title as captain. "No, this is not my island, if that's what you be thinking. I do hope you enjoy this particular tropical vista; it'll be the last you ever see. Mr. Swann!" he barked and the young man stepped forward, holding up the keys to their chains, jangling the ring before dropping them curtly over the side.

"I hope you can swim, Mr. T.," Troy said gruffly, hauling him to the railing before he even had a chance to answer. She took it in one leap, her legs clearing the wooden balustrade with one jump and taking Mr. Tapling with her. They seemed to fall forever, the loud jeers of the crew echoing remotely in their ears until, with a thundering crash, they hit the water. Than, all was silence and the strange, smooth rhythm of the waves.

Revenge would have to come later, she knew; right now she had to focus on survival. Tapling put up some resistance as she tried to move herself towards to ocean floor, himself attempting to reach the calm surface of the sea. Curses came from her mouth, released in a furry of bubbles as she tugged hard and Tapling finally obeyed.

The translucent water made her quest easier; she spotted the key ring almost instantly and scrambled towards it, her fingers digging into the soft white sand as she clutched it. It was then she realized that she was rapidly running out of air; one glance at Mr. Tapling told her that he too was facing the same predicament. What good would keys do them if they drowned?! She pushed herself as hard as she could off the bottom and swam desperately for the gently rippling surface, the metal hoop slipping from her grasp. Her lungs had begun to burn and it wasn't a moment too soon that her head cam bobbing up amid the peaceful breakers, Tapling following her lead. They both gulped and gasped for air, floating there for Gawd knows how long until one of them was able to speak.

"Adventure," Mr. Tapling panted, "isn't all it's cracked up to be!"

Troy grinned in spite of herself, letting out a loud guffaw. "Mr. Tapling, I do think we'll make a pirate out of you yet!" She moved her wrist, jangling the locks of their shared bondage, the irony that she had willingly accepted this position just hours ago not lost on Troy. "Can you swim?" she asked.

"This old body of mine has a few surprises left in it, Captain," Tapling grinned, and the two of them began to tread water, making their way slowly towards the tiny island, the only piece of land within miles.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"At dawn, sir," Mr. Prowse was telling Horatio, though the words weren't really penetrating his inner most thought. He shouldn't have let her go; she had knew there was trouble, had warned him and still he had just sat there with his cock out like a little boy. Damn him! If he had only understood what she had obviously realized, what had sent her flying from his arms, his bed. Troy was an able-bodied woman...Gawd, bad phrasing; he only meant she could handle herself...Damn him, why was that the only thing he could think of?! She was capable as a man and he knew she was strong but his heart was sick with worry and with guilt. "They hoisted their colors, the Jolly Roger, sir, then turned tail and ran."

"Captain Troy did not abandon us, Mr. Prowse," Bush said shortly and Horatio turned a look of dark surprise upon his friend. Will's stone face was betraying nothing save for the fact that he truly believed that Troy would never even contemplate such an action. Perhaps he had come to admire her as well. Horatio gave his first lieutenant an appreciative nod. Bush returned the gesture.

"'Expect trouble'," Edrington repeated for the hundredth time, "that's all she said to you before she left? 'Expect trouble'? No clue as to what kind?"

"None, though I could hazard a guess," Horatio said grimly. If I had only stopped her, gone with her. "Captain Jack Knightly not only has the information but the messenger; he has kidnapped Mr. Tapling and Captain Alleyn and he has taken The Elizabeth Alleyn. The arrogant bastard means to draw us out, possibly to barter, while eliminating the dangerous elements of our plan: Troy. We will follow but I will not barter with the likes of him. I will take what is ours," (what is mine, he thought, the image of Troy, flushed with his love-making, fresh in his mind), "by force if that is what is necessitated. Bring me the woman; perhaps she has some idea as to where they're headed."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Troy was heaving for breath when they reached the beach, dragging their weary bodies up onto the dry sand. Tapling was red with exertion, gasping but when she moved to help him, he insisted he was all right. They dusted themselves off and, retrieving a few choice fallen palm fronds, the built a quick shelter from the noonday sun.

Suddenly, Troy cried out in alarm. In the distance they could see that The Black Jack had taken sail and begun to drift away on the breeze while the poor, sorry frame of The Elizabeth Alleyn was ablaze, the orange and red flames reaching to the heavens, licking at the cerulean sky while billows of heavy black smoke obscured the white clouds. Her ship was dying, her crew, the ones who wouldn't join Knightly, were dying, and she was helpless to do anything.

"Bloody bastards!" she shouted at the horizon, waving her manacled fist; for the first time in a long time she wanted to sit down and weep. She felt Tapling's strong grasp upon her shoulder and looked up, her eyes glistening.

"There was nothing you could do, lass," he said evenly. "There was nothing anyone could have done."

Sniffling, Troy wiped her nose with the back of her hand and regained her composure. "It's a beacon," she said, "Horatio'll see that from leagues away." She indicated the heavy column of smoke. 'And walk right into Black Jack's obvious trap' she thought grimly to herself. She heaved a sigh, thinking aloud, "I do with I had my rum with me in the meantime!" Tapling let out a hearty laugh and Troy couldn't resist joining in, giving the man a big hug. "Mr. T., I can honestly say there are few people I'd rather spend time with on a deserted island than you!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"A-deck," Bush ordered harshly, opening the door to the cabin they were keeping red in without bothering to knock. He soon regretted this mistake as the woman stared back at him, clad only in her stays and stockings; the lieutenant looked away quickly, abashed. "Commander Hornblower wants you a-deck immediately."

She smiled at the flush that seemed to run all the way down to his knees, stretching leisurely as if she had all the time in the world, her full breasts moving proudly with the motions of her arms, their sweetly perked tips the color of the softest pink frock his youngest sister owned. "Finally," she drawled, fetching her dress as if she were in no rush to get it on. She slipped the garment on and turned her back to him. When he didn't move, she prompted him with a clearing of her throat. She wanted him to do up the buttons; he knew this only to well from his darling sisters. However, none of his sisters had ever made him as hard as he was now, his prick throbbing in his breeches. He did her frock up with the very tips of his fingers, trying to touch her as little as possible. "Thank you, sir," she said mellisonantly, "it will be good to feel the sea air on my face once again. I am to take it that Jack was struck?"

Bush said nothing but urged her onwards with a cutthroat glare; she took her time in arranging her dress, fluffing the sleeves, and then strolled casually past him. Raucous shouted remarks followed her as she moved through the sailors; she merely took the time to adjust her hair in front of the rowdiest of them, throwing Styles a wink. Bush had had enough; he took her by the arm and forced her up the ladder onto the deck. She looked like a ruffled peacock when the first lieutenant finally delivered her to Horatio.

"I believe, Commander, that you have some use for me," she said daintily, shooting Bush an angry stare.


	10. Chapter 10

The smoldering mass of timber lay like a corpse against the jagged rocks it had been wrecked upon: The remnants of The Elizabeth Alleyn. Horatio felt a lump in his throat as they surveyed the damage, searching for any signs of survivors. Bush's face was haggard and grave as they searched the lifeless charred bodies that were strewn across the clear ocean surface. The tattoos upon the face of one bodies made identifying him an easy task: Mr. Welles. Colonel Edrington brought the long boat 'round and waved, catching Horatio's attention; he shook his head in the negative, indicating that he had not found remains resembling Troy or Mr. Tapling. Then there was still hope, Horatio thought.

They had returned to Port Capitola briefly, hoping to find some clues there as Red was being of no help whatsoever, but found only a city in ruins, a once pleasant little English colony reduced to ash and ember. It was clear that Jack had moved on permanently; it was then that Scarlet started to assist them, suggesting they take a so'easterly course for she knew that Jack liked to play hide and seek amongst what the sea faring folk called 'the fingered islands', an archipelagos of thin and remote islets; she said he usually ran there to escape pursuing naval or privateer vessels. They spotted the smoke sometime just before evening.

There wasn't much searching they could do as night fell, their lanterns providing inadequate lighting to fully scour the area of the wreck. Reluctantly, Horatio called back the boats; Bush was disheartened to see the look of grim defeat and hard resolve on his commander's face; he believed Troy to be dead. It was perhaps in that one moment that the lieutenant fully realized how deep his emotions towards the pirate woman ran. Horatio was not a man to let his sentiment show; what was said about still waters?

"I'm sorry," he muttered and Horatio looked at him with, at first, surprise and then, with a nod of his head, resignation.

The hour was growing later and the night ever darker, but there was one last hope: Edrington had organized a team of men willing to search a nearby isle; unoccupied by all accounts, but then, that would just make it a better candidate for abandonment. Horatio had seemed reluctant, maybe in part because he did not want to look weak in front of the crew but perhaps as well that he did not want any further proof of his lover's demise. Finally, Edrington convinced him, taking an overeager Styles with him as well as a few marines in case they ran into trouble.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Just before the sun sank lazily into the twilight, blazing red like blood against the sea before disappearing over the horizon, Troy and Mr. Tapling gathered what they could of wood and kindling as well as some dead and dried fauna, and managed to make a small fire. They had watched as a ship with lanterns ablaze passed, yelling desperately at the top of their lungs and waving their arms about in the air. Troy fetched more kindling, hoping to build the fire so as it might be seen from the ocean; they had no such luck and the vessel passed them by.

They sat dejectedly, the flames calmly flickering in the warm tropic breeze, once again examining their bonds, hoping to find a way to break out of them. Troy had killed a small wild pig, using a branch to bash it over the head and they had dined on that, picking at the flesh with their fingers until both lost interest in the endeavor and decided their hunger was not enough to make them continue. "What's your first name Mr. T.?" Troy asked, laying back against the white sand and staring up at the stars.

"Henry," the man replied, meticulously cleaning his fingernails with his handkerchief, "but you, my dear, may call me Hal; all my close friends do." He gave her a smile; it made her feel better despite their situation. If she were to die, he was good enough company to do it in. "May I ask a question now?" Troy nodded. "When did you first make Commander Hornblower's acquaintance?"

"Years ago," she responded, gazing at the ripened moon, "when he was still a lieutenant aboard The Indefatigable. He was so handsome, still so handsome, in his uniform, that brooding, sullen demeanor."

"And you've loved him since?"

"I have and that makes two questions so I get an extra one!" she grinned, nudging him with her elbow. "You and Knightly, when he was Greyvorn, I mean, did you...?"

"It never went beyond flirtation, my dear," he sighed heavily.

Troy laughed. "I was going to ask if you suspected him," she chuckled and Tapling gave her a sheepish and abashed grin. "I suppose that answers that question, though I'm not sure I ever needed to know if you buggered the man!"

Suddenly, a soft flowing sound drew her attention away, to the current down the bleached sand beach, an interruption of the steady tide. She could hear...rowing! She shushed Tapling with a hand; it could be Black Jack's men coming to make sure she and her envoy companion truly had perished. She crouched low, Henry doing the same, or attempting to anyways, as they tiptoed down the shoreline. The boat came in, its occupants faces shrouded in the musky purple of night but that bright red jacket was unmistakable.

"Joseph!" she cried out in delight even before she could stop herself; Edrington turned his head to wear they had been hiding, the moonlight catching in his golden locks, and smirked.

She was only slightly hampered by the dragging Tapling, trying to keep up, as she ran into his arms. "My hero!" she laughed, understanding for the first time since they had washed up upon the beach that she had really believed she was going to and was prepared to die. She kissed him, pressing her mouth to his first in joy and then in passion; the embrace deepened, their lips slowly savoring the other's, their tongues dancing to the music of lust. When she finally broke the kiss off, her face was flushed and her thin lips swollen with ardor. She panted slightly as she playfully scolded him, "What took you so long?!"

"I'm beginning to think I couldn't be rid of you if I tried!" he chuckled. All of a sudden, an explosion in the distance drew their attention seaward. They could see the flash of gunpowder, lighting the surrounding darkness for an instant in orange and red and then evaporating in a cloud of thick gray smoke. "The Hotspur," Edrington murmured, distressed, "she's under fire." And that was that; Troy knew that Horatio had sailed right into Black Jack's trap.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Horatio was sitting behind his desk, his fingers steepled as he waited in anticipation of Lord Edrington's findings when the first calls came. He had been brooding over Troy, wondering if he could go back to Maria, could go back to going through the motions of sexual arousal and fulfillment after Troy had reminded him what it was like to truly feel again. A knock on his cabin door brought him back to reality as he barked, "Come!"

Mr. Orrock entered, his cheeks a rosy color of exertion and a hint of anxiety. "Sir," he saluted, "your presence is requested on deck. Lieutenant Bush has spotted a ship..." The youth needn't say anymore; he knew who it was that was ambushing them in the night: Jack Knightly and his foul band of miscreants. He ran past the young man, slipping his jacket on as he went, and quickly joined Bush at the railing. William handed the spyglass over to his superior and Horatio could see it too: the ominous outline against the brilliant stars, it's black sails making it almost invisible in the darkness.

"Man the gu..." That was all he managed to get out before the first shot from The Black Jack exploded right off the stern, the shockwave of water jarring the ship, making it fall and rise beneath Horatio's feet. If it was a fight he wanted, it was a fight he'd get, Horatio steeled his determination. "Man the guns!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "By Gawd, we'll give them a jolt or two!"

Red laughed in joyless realization. She put her hand to her cheek, feeling the layers of make-up; suddenly felt very old, nine and twenty going on sixty. Perhaps Jack did mean to have her back; this all used to be so exciting, the chase, the fun of it all. From The Black Jack's stance, its position, she could tell that he did not intend to take The Hotspur; his aim was to obliterate it Her included, need be.

"The bastard, he really would rather kill me than see me collaborate with you," she sneered scornfully at Horatio. "Aim just below the fighting top; that's his weak spot. He's just had it repaired recently; it'll still be somewhat weak knowing the type of drunken labor mended it. Bring it down and the ship is yours."

Horatio somewhat grudgingly passed her knowledge onto the gunners. His eyes met with Red's for a moment and she inclined her head to him respectfully, just for a split second, and he returned the gesture with a sharp tug of his hat.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"To Knightly's ship," Troy ordered, bounding into the beached long boat, dragging Tapling along with her as he wheezed to keep up, and Styles grinned at her, giving her an 'aye, aye, ma'am' but Edrington signaled for him to halt. "Horatio can take care of himself," she tried to convince him, "We need Jack alive." The earl finally concurred, realizing the validity of her argument and, being one of the only men who could identify the dispatches Knightly had stolen, he agreed that he had to be aboard to retrieve them.

Troy gripped on of the pistols nestled in a holster at His Lordship's waist, pulling it out and aiming it into the air as she fired. "Let's go kick some arse," she grinned menacingly.

"I officially agree with that sentiment," Tapling said, officiously puffing his chest out.


	11. Chapter 11

A ball from a rifle flew past Horatio's ear, narrowly avoiding him yet close enough to move his hair in its wake. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood as The Hotspur came about, its guns already firing. They out-gunned The Black Jack though it would be no easy victory to take her; her crew proved themselves adept enough, certainly at fighting if at nothing else, her gunners were top notch. And there was a chance that Troy was aboard, and Mr. Tapling and the dispatches; he couldn't, he would, not risk any of them for all were precious to someone. There was a cheer as they succeeded in ripping a fair hole into The Black Jack's bow; nothing fatal naturally, their goal was to capture, not destroy.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The ship lurched as canon's shot from the Hotspur hit its target, nearly knocking Troy off her precarious perch, grappling hold of the smooth dark stained wood of The Black Jack's hull. "Shite," she swore, gritting her teeth, "don't condemn me just yet, 'Ratio!" She looked back at the struggling Mr. Tapling, Edrington and Mr. Styles, all ready to go and awaiting her word; Mr. T. looked slight the worse for wear but his heart was in the right place. She'd do everything she could to make sure it stayed there! "Reading?" she asked in an obligatory fashion, already knowing the answer. They nodded and, with a war cry, they came up over the rail.

Aware that she was anchored to Tapling like a beached ship, Troy made her moves slow if lethal, grasping the head of the nearest pirate, giving a sharp twist and snapping his neck. As he fell, she drew his saber from his scabbard and his pistol from his belt. "Make me proud, Mr. Styles!" she grinned, her bloodlust already making her boil in anticipation of the kill.

"Aye aye, ma'am," he smiled, saluting her. She knew she didn't have to worry about Joseph and, indeed, he had already fought his way, along with the marines that had accompanied him, to the wheel, spinning it and bringing her about with a violent pitch. They were now even with The Hotspur and drifting ever closer. The mainmast suddenly burst in a shower of splinters, falling towards The Hotspur and making a fantastic bridge between the two vessels. She looked around; Jack was nowhere to be seen. She spotted a longboat rowing away from the entangled crafts; cowardly little prick! He was running, or more appropriately, rowing away.

She squealed and instinctively ducked, cursing herself out for letting herself be caught off guard if only for a moment as a blade soared past her ear, taking a lock of her hair with it. The pirate was grinning, his teeth either rotted or missing entirely as she defended herself with a one-handed thrust. Flipping, She rolled herself up and around the solid oaken column of a nearby pole, stretching the chain that connected her and poor Mr. T., who was perspiring heavily but still managed to guard himself. The pirate's brand hit the metal bindings with a deafening clang and the chain broke, freeing the both of them; Troy was just glad she hadn't been on the receiving end of such a blow! She promptly used the momentum of her body to swing back around and catch the pirate unprepared; she knocked him to his feet and ran him through.

"Get the dispatches," she yelled at Mr. Tapling over the din. "I'm going after Jack!" Without even a second though she threw herself into the water and began to swim after the wayward boat.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"What took you so long?" Edrington quipped as he saw Horatio, the commander's forehead bloodied from a light blow, join him aboard The Black Jack's deck. "And I was just starting to have fun."

"Troy?" Horatio asked breathlessly, his heart pounding with adrenaline; his body was singing with the dance of fighting, of killing.

"Around here somewhere," laughed Edrington. "Don't know where you met her, Horatio, but I must commend you on your unique and fantastic taste! The woman's a savage!"

"The dispatches, gentlemen," Tapling gently reminded them, joining them. He seemed a fair hand when it came to the arts of the blade and had survived the scuffle with naught but a rip in his jacket. They cut themselves a trail of scoundrels, leaving only a path of lifeless bodies behind them, until they reached the captain's cabins. Edrington shot the lock off the door and they entered, desperately looking for any safe place Knightly would think to hide his prize. The safe built into his desk yielded nothing.

Something was nagging at Horatio, a strange sense that something was out of place and he couldn't quite understand...His keen glare fell upon the bookcase; leather volumes sat complacently side by side but there was one...Horatio picked up the journal, smirking as he read the gold-embossed title: The Legend of Treasure Island. He remembered Troy and almost started laughing. Opening the cover revealed that the book had been gutted and in its pages' place was a thick bundle of papers tied with a bit of twine.

"Is this what we're looking for?" he asked smugly, holding the package up for them to see. Tapling breathed an audible sigh of relief and brought the dispatches to his breast, almost not daring to believe it true.

"It is indeed," he confirmed with a triumphant grin. "And I daresay, His Majesty will be *very* happy to have these back!"

"Now, where did Troy get herself off to?" inquired Horatio, noticing that Tapling's coloring deepened a decent amount. "Right, off to find more trouble I'm sure." He could strangle her pretty little neck! He went through all this trouble to try and save her and there she goes, off on another adventure! Bloody Typical, that was! "Let's hoist our colors, men!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bush parried, deflecting attacks from both sides as the pirates came over the side of The Hotspur. With a cry, he felt a blade penetrate his woolen uniform jacket, cutting down to skin, to muscle. He fell, gripping his bleeding arm, trying to pull himself out of the fray with his one good arm. Horrified, he found himself face to boot with a particularly evil looking varlet who was grinning down at him in victorious malice. He aimed his pistol and BANG!

Bush winced but when he did not feel a bullet ripping into his flesh, he looked up wonderingly. The man was still standing over him but now he wore a look of surprise. Blood slowly came from the villain's mouth and he collapsed, first to his knees and then toppling over completely. Red was standing behind him, the pistol in her gripped in her hands still smoking from the discharge. She laughed light-headedly, looking at the thing in her grasp as if it had fallen from the stars.

"Never did that before," she said, her sleeves rolled up as if she had dived into the fracas, the crimson had been smeared from her lips, giving way to a pleasant, luscious strawberry shade of pink and the lilac powder used to lighten her skin was almost completely washed away by perspiration, revealing the olive skin of her Spanish heritage. Bush stood just in time to catch her as she passed out in his arms. "Looks like you need a doctor as badly as I, brave heart," he smiled at her.

"Look," she smiled, sitting up as she regained her wits. She was gazing skyward and Bush thought at first that the poor thing was delirious but as he followed her gaze he saw the colors of the Empire flying proudly above The Black Jack. He grinned proudly and turned back to her only to find that she'd fainted again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Horatio, look out!" Edrington called out suddenly; they had been caught off guard as they raised the ensign and Swann took it as a perfect opportunity for an ambush. Giving a blood-curdling war cry, the young man charged them, shoving aside Mr. Tapling and hitting Joseph in the face with the butt of his pistol; luckily the thing misfired as he aimed it at Horatio. He discarded the firearm and drew his cutlass in one fluid motion, lunging at Horatio.

The commander drew his own saber, parrying Swann's attacks, aware that the youth was driving him ever backwards towards the rail of the ship. He managed to thrust his blade between Swann's torso and the arm he held his weapon in, moving swiftly he caught the downward motion of the sword; suddenly, Horatio was in command and it was Swann who was on the defensive.

He easily overpowered the lithe brute; he made a cut at his cheek, drawing blood and as Swann reeled from the contact, he drove his sword down his shoulder and pierced his ribcage right at the heart. Swann looked mystified as he gazed at the place where cold steel met hot flesh, blood pouring from his wound.

"I was there when your traitorous father died at the hands of Troy Alleyn," Horatio informed him coldly as he collapsed to his knees, still staring at the commander in shock. "And now I'm here to see his bastard son die."

"Son of a bitch," Swann spat out blood as he cursed Horatio. With that, he fell dead to the deck with a sickeningly wet thud. Cheers arose from the crew of the Hotspur and, glancing around, Horatio now saw that they had subdued the most malignant blackguards; victory was theirs.

"Still alive then, are you?" Matthews winked at Styles.

"I'm harder to get rid o' than that!" Styles laughed, giving the older man a firm pat on the back.


	12. Chapter 12

Troy moved silently in the water, cutting through it with ease, going with the gently rolling tide. Jack was ahead of her; she ducked her head down beneath the surface as he glanced over his shoulder for the sixth time. He seemed to be leading her on a wild goose chase; he was rowing away from the island, skirting its shallow shores in favor of a rockier route around the islet. They could both hear clearly the triumphant shouts of as The Hotspur took The Black Jack but it sounded so distant, so insignificant when measured against the sound of the ocean.

He abruptly changed course, heading for an outcropping of jagged volcanic rock, jutting up from the ocean like the fingers of a corpse's hand. He drew his boat ashore and turned to the azure waves, seemingly searching her out. Had he known she would follow? With a grin, he turned on his heel and headed into the thick of the outreaching hand of the stone. He seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth; one moment he was there, the next, poof!, gone!

Frowning she pulled herself up onto the rock, noticing only when she stood upon the longest finger that there was an opening, the mouth of a cave, hidden in the palm of the hand; it was completely shielded from any other point; there was no change it would have been spotted at sea or even in a dingy. It was only noticeable from a certain vantage point. Could it be? Knightly's secret stash; she dared to hope, for an instant forgetting that she had to face the man and thinking on the mountains of gold rumored to be housed, the jewels, the doubloons! She followed him down, keeping her breathing shallow, as there was a strange echo to the place.

She let out an audible gasp when her eyes fell upon the riches hidden within the dank cave; gold, mountains of it, lay about as if it were no more than a ha'penny, jewels, as large as her fist, as well as pearl and gem encrusted necklaces, rings and bracelets. This hoard had existed long before Black Jack's twenty years at sea; some of the loot was over a century old! She ran her hand over one of the golden hillocks, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of the cavern.

"And this, my dear girl, is only part of the plunderage I possess," Knightly's voice came as loud as thunder in the confined space; his back was still turned to her but his hand now rested upon the sword at his waist. "You should see my island: great heaps of gold, riches beyond what you could ever imagine."

"It's over, you've lost," she told him, drawing her cutlass in anticipation. "Didn't you hear the cries? They were those of your men, beaten down by His Majesty's Navy, abandoned by their coward of a captain," she sneered.

"You'll never find it, you know," he said and Troy could hear the grin, the smugness and arrogance, in his voice. "Only I know the secret, and I'll take it to my grave."

"Dead men tell no tales, and all of that?" She cocked her head to the side. "I suppose we'll just have to find out, won't we?" She attacked, the clash of their blades like roaring against the private world of the hollow rock hand. He parried effortlessly, deflecting her blows elegantly as she swung and thrust. He suddenly spun, meeting each of her saber's charges, moving with grace. Angrily, she slashed at him, opening the back of his coat and shirt with her flashing blade. She could see something underneath, a tattoo, the lines of a map. Realization dawned on her and a funny smile crept upon her lips. "Perhaps dead men do tell tales."

She renewed her attack with fervor, her cutlass moving surely now as it forced him backwards. They fought back and forth, back and forth for what seemed like an hour or so but was in reality only about ten minutes. He was tiring, she could tell by the increasing weakness of his blows. She pushed her advantage; screaming, she drew her sword back and aimed for his neck. There was a wet sort of 'snict' sound, followed by a small thud and then a louder one as first his head fell to the cavern floor and then his body crumpled up and joined it.

She looked down in disgust at the body, knowing what she had to do--the map. It was a foul job but if it proved true, it would be well worth the effort. She rolled up her sleeves and bent over, beginning to remove his jacket and linen shirt.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"What will happen to me?" Red asked as she gingerly wrapped a bandage around the wound on Bush's forehead. She brushed the brown locks from his face almost tenderly, her fingertips skating across the worn and heated flesh of his lined face. Her voice sounded unsure for the first time in the very short time that Bush had known her; she was in a difficult position, but something told him she was a survivalist.

"You were of service to His Majesty's men," Horatio assured her; his demeanor was rigid, formal, but there was a kindness to his act of pardoning. "I don't know one man who witnessed these events who would see you hanging from the gallows." One man who witnessed; so, he was letting her go, no word would be spoken of it. She tried to reveal any warmth there was in his cool behavior; she had a feeling there was much more beneath the surface, something like the oceans' depths themselves. "Now," he sighed, "as for that monstrosity..." He indicated The Black Jack. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to burn it; we can't tow it all the way back to Kingston."

"Commander Horatio Hornblower, you will do nothing of the sort!" came a sudden voice, indignant, compelling; it could only be one person. He could barely contain a smirk as he turned to see Troy being brought aboard. She straightened her bloodstained garments and regained her poise; if ever a woman had been born to command, it would have had to have been her! "I've lost my ship and I don't intend to petition His Majesty for another; I'm taking what is rightfully mine, I'm taking The Black Jack!"

Her smile was cold, black. "I think not," she said confidently. And with that, she hopped up upon the debris of a mast that had fallen between the two ships in the process of being removed, creating a bridge, and strolled onto The Black Jack's deck. Horatio noticed then that she was carrying a sack, velvet with a silken cord. The men were all looking to her, some curiously, others with utter hatred in their eyes as she drew an object from the bag and held it high above her; Horatio almost lost the contents of his stomach as he realized it was, in fact, Jack Knightly's severed head. Drawing a second item for the satchel, a bejeweled dagger that had clearly belonged to Black Jack, she let the bag fall to her feet.

"This," she called loudly, and the marines guarding the prisoners sprang to readiness as if they expected trouble; they stared in puzzlement as the pirates only gawped at the item in reverence. "I believe you know what this is and where I found it!" she continued. "Let any man who would challenge me remove this blade!" With that, she walked to the entrance to the captain's cabin and with a snarl, thrust the polished steel into the hard wood beside the door. "Who will have at it, you scum?!" Not one of the men moved. Troy grinned; she was a captain again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Horatio sat behind his desk, tickling his ear absently with his pen as he stared down at the sheet of paper. Not for the first time, he heaved a great sigh and crumpled the thing up, throwing it towards the wastebasket. He hadn't considered how difficult it would be to work out the where-tos and why-fors of this particular adventure, forming them into something acceptable for the admiralty.

"Come," he barked, distractedly waving his hand as the figure entered. It took him a moment to realize it was Troy; he looked up then, smiling at her dainty figure and bidding her to step in further.

"Indeed," she said throatily and he recognized a curious fury in her hazel eyes. She ran a hand down the back of her neck, feeling the sweat there, moving her fingers around to her collar bone, stroking sensually. She had cleaned up, bathing away the blood and once again donning a skirt and frock coat, the latter borrowed from Colonel Edrington, the former from Scarlet. Again, he saw that strange spark in her eyes, as she licked her lips. "My blood," she said huskily, "it's all, you know, raging; from the kill I presume. It feels like, I feel like...I need release!"

Before she could speak again, he had gotten up from his chair and strode over to her, crushing her body against his firm, lean frame. They kissed wildly and she was only dimly aware that he was pushing her backwards against his desk, lifting her skirt. They were quite wicked, the two of them, she reflected; they hungered for each other as a hungry man might covet food or a thirsty man drink. His tongue was inside of her, making her so slick she felt as if she could just slide away, even as he drank that slippery nectar from her. And then his cock, hard like wood, his supple masculine flesh forged to steel by his desire for her.

He stabbed her desperately, his prick a long saber piercing the very core of her; they grunted and moaned wildly as they moved in rhythm. All too soon, they found themselves riding the crest of the waves of ecstasy, bliss making limbs lethargic as he came into her like a torrent, surging his seed into her. They were both gasping for air brutally.

She buried her face into the wool of his uniform jacket. "I love you, Horatio," she sighed blissfully.

"As I do you, queen of my heart." He kissed her hair, his arms holding tightly against him; she could feel his heartbeat, rapid, passionate. They kissed, softly like lovers do.


	13. Chapter 13

The moonlight was a thin silver ribbon against the gently swaying seas, the stars like jewels set in a fair maiden's raven hair. The men, Troy's men now, were all below decks, singing raucous tales and drinking for tomorrow they would set sail. Troy enjoyed the time alone, surveying the workmanship that had gone into repairing and painting The Black Jack, it's name now stated boldly on its hull as The Queen of Hearts. The water was gently lapping at the vessel; it looked like liquid onyx in the darkness.

She smiled, gently caressing the jewel-encrusted hilt of the implanted dagger as she strolled to her quarters. No one had challenged her, none had dared. With a sigh, she entered her private chamber, an extravagant place thanks to Knightly's delusions concerning his own sex appeal. Thick velvet was draped liberally about the place, the carpet so soft she felt as if she'd sink into it. The crowning achievement of egomania was, however, the bed: large and luxurious with a plush feather tick and oodles of soft animal furs, silks and velvets adorning it.

Horatio stood by the panoramic window; clearly agitated by the conversation he was having with Joseph, who was seated regally in a lavish chair beside the spirits.

"Come here," Edrington beckoned and she obeyed almost automatically. He stood and produced in his hand what looked to be a slice of orange, smaller...perhaps a peach? He ran it along her lower lip, his dark eyes glittering as he watched it glide along the thin length. Sugary. She opened her mouth for him and he urged it inside her mouth. She instantly spit it out.

"Good Gawd, what is that stuff?! It's awful!" she proclaimed, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt.

"Marzipan," replied Joseph with a smirk before the moody Horatio could speak up. "Our commander here thinks that Mrs. Hornblower would fancy a bit of sweets from his stay in the fevered isles."

"As opposed to the sweets he's been enjoying," she said shamelessly; Horatio seemed to glower at her. She draped herself seductively across the bed, noticing the distinct outline in His Lordship's trousers. "I myself prefer sweet *meats*. Take down your pants, love, and I'll savor what I have a taste for!" Edrington sent a cautious glare Horatio's way though he was clearly eager; Troy just laughed. She'd never been stuck like this before, between two such iron wills, two such dominating personalities; she loved every minute of it. "Never mind him, my Joseph," she nodded towards Hornblower, whose eyes, shinning like hot chocolate in the dim candlelight, were on them, "He likes to watch, don't you, 'Ratio?" He didn't answer, there was no need to; his eyes said it all.

There was no more vacillation as he moved towards her now, undoing the fastenings of his breeches. She'd seen men undress quickly in her lifetime but never had it seemed like an art from until she watched the Earl shuck his garments. Gawd, he was beautiful naked, noble, firm with a hint of dangerously powerful sinew beneath the soft tanned flesh. His shaft bobbed erect, swaying up and down as he joined her on the bed, the helmet was purplish-pink with desire, peeking coyly from the folds of his masculine flesh.

She obediently raised her hips as he pulled her skirts off, lifting her arms as he removed her blouse. He ran his hot hands across her bared flesh, relishing the solid lithe feel of her. Crawling on her hands and knees, she licked his cock reverentially, taking the head in her mouth like a smooth, mouth-watering plum as it finally came out to play. She suckled his satin length as he grunted, tangling his fingers in her hair. Her tongue was like a whip, burning his sensitive flesh with every lash. He groaned, throwing his head back as her mouth worshipped his balls, rolling each one like a precious fruit in its taut sac. He was thrusting now, dismissing self-control as he drove himself deep into her throat. He exploded, pumping his seed into her mouth.

He lay back against the pillows, casually positioning himself like a decadent portrait of a licentious man. She straddled his head, her knees on either side of his neck on the bedspread as she sought purchase against the ornate headboard. His tongue darted up into her juicy rolls of skin, sipping the nectar that flowed from her so freely. She felt Horatio against her even as Joseph's hungry, clever tongue devoured her, the itchy wool of his jacket prickling her flesh. The luscious bow of his lips stroked her cheek, the arch of her neck, delicately nipping at her earlobe. He too was soon free of his clothes, his strong hands, those lean, forceful fingers were compelling her to turn her torso to his as his mouth consumed greedily the modest swell of her tittie, tickling the little rigid peak with his large, wet, succulent tongue. He plucked it like a ripe berry with the suction of his mouth, slurping at her burning flesh.

He disappeared for a moment and rematerialized holding one plump marzipan cherry. He ran the candy across her tingling, moist nipples, licking the sugar from the nubs with delicious swirls of his tongue. He moved the sweet lower, running across her slender tummy. He balled her hair in his fist and, with a yank, compelled her to arch her back. He inserted the candy between the scrumptious lips of her slippery sex; it melted immediately, making her brackish sap thick and sweet like syrup for the gluttonous Edrington to gulp down. He tickled her clit with his pinky finger, smacking her bottom rhythmically until she was bucking against Joseph's chin and mouth, oiling him with her thick, sweet liquor, feeding his every voracious need.

Horatio grasped her hips tightly, moving her pelvis down Edrington's body until his upright cockstand lay nestled within the fleshy crevasse of her buttocks. She leaned over, kissing Joseph's lips, lapping herself from his mouth like a kitten as she ground her pubis into his, the wiry hair of his lower belly rubbing against the soft swell of her own. She raised her hips, shifting so that the bulging head of his fat shaft rested at her threshold. Ever so slowly, she impaled herself on him, her hungry maw gobbling up his prick inch by inch. She gasped, feeling his throbbing girth fill the ravenous void inside of her. Feeling Joseph's hands join Horatio's at her waist, the both of them held her still as he grunted and bucked up into her, losing any semblance of restraint. She felt as if she were riding a thrusting, driving, plunging charger, having to brace herself, palms against the burning skin of the Earl's muscular shoulders.

She cried out in surprise as Joseph suddenly pulled out of her, allowing Horatio to enter from behind. He pumped her leisurely, deliberately, covering his pulsing column of maleness in her slick nectar; she was dripping with it like a fresh peach. Once again, Joseph was leading the attack, as Horatio's cock retreated, Edrington's unrelentingly rushed forth, gorging her.

She was contented to stay in the saddle until both men began to compel her to lie against His Lordship, resting her cheek against his as he scoured her skin with fiery kisses. Suddenly, Horatio was on top of them both. She had never even dared to dream something as depraved, as unabashed as what he did next. Wrapping his thighs around her own, which, in turn, surrounded Joseph's waist, he parted her delightfully rosy cheeks and lunged into her backside. She thought she would die from the sensation, faint away from the intensity of having two huge dicks penetrating her at the same time.

She moaned, hardly believing or comprehending what she was experiencing wedged between two powerful men, two men she adored, two cocks she craved like the desert yearns for water. She felt almost as if there was nothing between their two thrusting shafts, as if they were creating enchanting, delectable frictions in the space between, the vulnerable membranes, muscles and flesh being massaged with such phenomenal strength, gratification and bliss. Both men were driving tirelessly, the groans coming from their throats echoing her own rapture. Grunting viciously, Horatio could take no more of this; he pulled out of her and spilled his warm rush of seed in a fierce flood. Joseph followed, just as Troy's pussy clenched him snuggly, her own climax brutally tearing through her. She thought she could see stars before her eyes; brilliant diamonds reflecting rainbows of warmth and tingling light.

Horatio on top of her, Joseph below, she was sandwiched between heaving, panting sinew, brawn glistening with perspiration. Both mouths, Horatio's luscious pink lips and Joseph's perfectly shaped lips, kissed her, nuzzling her hair, every inch of bare flesh they could reach, cooing sweet endearments to her in husky undertones.

Love was a funny thing, she decided, snuggling between them...such a strange thing. She had loved Horatio all these years; there couldn't be two people in the world less and more suited for each other. And yet, no other occupied her thoughts or her fantasies as he did. And Joseph, she had loved him from the moment she had laid eyes on him, she knew now, that curious kind of love that started like a tickling in her tummy.

"Mmmmmm," she breathed as two sets of fingers parted her swollen nether lips and began to knead the little button inside, "such naughty boys. My *commander* and Lord Posh-Pants."

"Now," Edrington said in a low, dangerous rumble, "I thought I told you to call me Joseph when I was fucking you. If you don't behave, Horatio and I might just have to discipline you. Won't we, Horatio?"

"We certainly will, my Lord," Horatio grinned, cupping her breast and pinching the plump pink nipple between two long, limber fingers. "Calling him Joseph," he demanded, pinching again as she gasped in delight. "Lord Joseph, call him that!"

Edrington had inserted three fingers into her tight sheath, the signet ring on his pinky coolly brushing her burning clitoris. "Mmmmmm, don't stop, my Lord. MY LORD, oh, Joseph, don't stop!" He massaged her silken walls, the place inside of her that made her explode with physical pleasure.

"What do you say, Joseph?" Horatio inquired, liberating himself from a mouthful of her breast for a moment to speak; she could sense the sinful wantonness in his tone. "Shall we let her off easy?" They both grinned and Edrington began to bind her wrists to the headboard.

"You know," she smiled, "I believe I do quite like marzipan!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"What is it?" Red asked, darkness enveloping her harsh features. She gazed at Bush in the dimness, the candle having winked out when he had taken her hard and fast against the small writing desk in his cabin. She felt the lean muscles of his belly tense where her hand lay, and he sat up, cocking one ear to the ceiling.

He shook his head with a laugh, his soft brown curls cascading across his forehead. "It's nothing, my darling. I thought I heard something, that's all." He laid back, an arm behind his head, sighing deeply. "It was nothing. Now, where were we?"

"Anywhere you want, Will," she grinned, lifting the covers about his waist and disappeared beneath them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"What do you say, Joseph?" Horatio inquired, liberating himself from a mouthful of her breast for a moment to speak; she could sense the sinful wantonness in his tone. "Shall we let her off easy?" They both grinned and Edrington began to bind her wrists to the headboard.

"You know," she smiled, "I believe I do quite like marzipan!" She giggled. "If only Maria the pariah knew of what licentious use her extraordinary husband's gift had been put to!"

A moan of softly panting desire passed through her gently parted lips as Horatio took to suckling her teat, cupping the firm mound with his large hand, nursing like a hungry babe; but no, for he had a man's craving, a man's shameless lust. His teeth grazed the throbbing nub, nipping at the very tip even as his lips pulled at it hungrily.

She gasped as smooth, cool silk stroked her cheeks a moment before Joseph secured it over her eyes, tying it at the back of her head. She could no longer tell whose tongue was laving her heated flesh, whose fingers fondled her most sensitive places. Horatio's thick organ left her breast, sucking wetly as he made his way down her belly, nuzzling his prominent nose into the bush of wiry curls, breathing her scent deeply with an appreciative groan; she was salty like the sea and feminine in the most pleasing of ways.

His tongue boldly plunged into her sodden womanhood, pulling between his sensuous lips the little tender nubbin of her sex, engorged with the blood that thrummed through her veins. His mouth pulled at it, seizing with his teeth the delicate bud, making her scream for him. He parted her dewy folds and plunged his tongue as far as it would go into her silken sheath while his nose bore into her clitoris, rubbing strongly as he fucked her with orally and nasally.

Edrington was not slacking whilst Horatio went to work on her pussy; he was retrieving a candy, an orange slice shaped piece of marzipan, which he sucked into his mouth before running it around the firm peak of her tittie, prickling the sensitive aureole with the warm, wet but abrasive sugar. He teased the dusky button, abrading it with the sweet, until he sucked the candy into his mouth again and descended onto her breast.

All she could do was lay back, moaning wildly as they worked magic upon her receptive body. Horatio's tongue filled her, an occasional finger joining the velvety organ in its invasion of her sweet femininity, while Joseph nursed her nipple, turning the candy over his tongue again and again, stroking her jutting bulb with it.

'Men and titties,' she reflected, her brain only semi-capable of rational thought. 'What was it with the male of the species that they couldn't get enough of a fine pair of breasts?'

Not that she was complaining at the moment; and, to be fair, Horatio and Joseph were as enamored of her cunt, plunging fingers and tongues, making her squirm with kinetic rapture.

One of them, she couldn't tell which, liberated one of her arms and she felt her hand being drawn to a rigid and ready cock. Ah, Joseph, she smiled. She felt the heat of his breath on her neck, gently blowing at the wisps of her hair, panting as her hand firmly gripped his prick and began to pump it in her fist.

"That's it, love," he breathed huskily, "fuck your Lord Joseph. Fuck me with that pretty little petite hand of yours.

"Yes, milord," she cooed, relishing the feel of the pulsating, hot flesh against her palm, enjoying the powerfully masculine feel of him, of every inch of his ample column of veined skin. She felt herself being turned on her side, facing the bed where Horatio had laid; she felt his scorching kiss upon her lips. He pushed her thighs open and, grasping her waist, drove his raging dick into her. Joseph urged her on, smacking her bottom, spanking her as she penitently worshipped them both with her body.

She tightened her grip on Joseph's penis, fondling it reverently like it was the most holy of objects even as she felt Horatio's own dive all the way into her until she swore she could feel his heated length stroke the neck of her womb, so deep within her tummy. She didn't know whose name to call out, whose violent assault on her petite body was more scrumptious than the other's. Joseph's mouth was on her breasts again, gobbling them up like he would the marzipan, Horatio plunging ever forward into the heavenly abyss of bliss.

Joseph freed her other arm, allowing her to clutch Horatio even as her hand wrung the seed from Edrington's; he threw back his head, his golden leonine curls haloing his face, a picture of celestial beauty and ecstasy. Troy had lost count how many times she had been taken to the crest, how many times the tide of sexual fulfillment had rippled through her body; she only knew that she was cuming now, squeezing Horatio's cock firmly.

"Oh Lord," she was panting, thrashing about, her fiery flesh feeling like a brand against the satin sheets, "Oh Lord, Horatio, Joseph, Oh Gawd!"

Horatio shook with the force of his orgasm, pumping his thick essence into her. He rested his head against her breast, trying desperately to catch his breath; Troy felt Joseph drawing close, his body molding into hers as he encircled her in his arms. She removed her blindfold herself, happily kissing the lush ribbon her Horatio's mouth. No words were spoken; none needed to be.


	14. Chapter 14

"I cannot thank you enough," Mr. Tapling said in all sincerity, shaking Troy's hands enthusiastically. "Captain Alleyn, His Majesty will hear of your unwavering loyalty and bravery! Just as soon as they have these back at the admiralty," he patted his jacket where he had sewn into the lining the dispatches and gave her a wink.

Port Capitola was almost a pleasant place without the presence of Black Jack; the gallows had been removed and the rightful governor, Frederick Blott, had been restored upon discovery that Mr. Steadfast had been among those poor souls hanging by the neck, left to rot. Townsfolk were around now; the women's bright colored dresses were like tropical flowers in the noonday sun. Seamen watched from the docks, many of who had volunteered to serve on The Queen.

Ah, The Queen of Hearts; she sat fully repaired and painted in all the garish colors of the Indies; lush greens, blues, and golds. The figurehead now held a suit of hearts in her deck of cards; she looked somehow coy and mischievous where as she once seemed malicious, dangerous. Troy kept the black sails; they would serve her just as they had Knightly, cloaking her in the darkness.

"Remarkable as well," Edrington added with a smirk, "that you should turn down the reward."

"King and country and all that, don't you know," grinned Troy. She turned to Styles. "Don't suppose you've reconsidered my offer, Mr. Styles? I still think you would make an absolutely smashing pirate, er, privateer."

"Thankee, ma'am," Styles knuckled his forehead. He glanced at Horatio with pride beaming from his eyes. "But I think I'm right where I belong."

"And you, Mr. Tapling?" She raised an eyebrow in amusement as she turned her gaze to the diplomat. "I would be honored to have ye aboard."

Mr. Tapling chuckled, a joyful if somewhat silly sort of sound; he punctuated his laugh with a bit of a snort at the end. "I can't say it isn't tempting, Captain Alleyn," he said, leaning in close and giving her a wink. "But, alas, I feel that my service to His Majesty is best attended to in the fashion I am used to."

"Very well then," she laughed. "You know where to find me if you change your mind." Her cheerful demeanor changed as she turned to Horatio and Joseph; she took a deep breath to steady herself. She always hated goodbyes, never very good at them. "Commander Hornblower, it has been a pleasure working with you, sir, and you too, Colonel Edrington. Indeed, I do hope our paths cross in the future."

"Indeed, Captain Alleyn, it was a pleasure," Horatio said deeply; always so stiff, so unreadable. Yet she knew he must be feeling the same things as she; the same emotions of longing and maybe a bit of regret. They shook hands and she made a mental note of how his hands felt, his long slender fingers with the coarse, workman's tips. Edrington, never one to be outdone, took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

"And what of Red?" Mr. Bush inquired, standing on the deck of the Hotspur watching as The Queen passed in the nearby distance, Captain Troy standing proudly at the helm. "Surely her part in this would be construed as treason, with or without the assistance she offered."

"Indeed it would," Horatio said calmly, crossing his arms behind his back as a second figure appeared beside Troy, a statuesque female, her men's clothing of a shirt, waistcoat and breeches hardly hiding her voluptuous frame. Her unnatural red hair was in a braid falling near to her waist, her bronze skin shining in the sun. Bush looked to his commander with an expression of surprise and then began to laugh as Horatio's stern mouth broke into a small smile.

"And what of the reward?" wondered Edrington aloud. "What do you suppose she's up to there? Surely passing up such an ample price; she must be about something!"

"I've learned much about Troy over the years, my Lord," smirked Horatio. "Above all else, I have learned to always expect the unexpected." He watched as the ship glided by, nodding to her; he thought he spotted her returning the gesture in the distance.

'Always expect the unexpected,' he thought. 'We will meet again.'

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Miss Scarlet," Troy barked, "set a course no', no' westerly at fifteen knots; we've a fine breeze at our back; the wind is with us."

Breathing deeply the brackish sea spray, she let the thrum of the ocean take her over. Red gave her an 'aye aye, ma'am' and shouted the command at the man at the steer; Troy barely heard, she felt alive again, free. She pulled a rolled piece of what, upon first inspection, appeared to be a tattooed leather map from the back of her waistband and consulted it, grinning widely as she traced a finger across it, following their path.

She thought of Horatio and promised herself that they would be together again. Any way the wind blows.

**The End**  



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